


Uprooted

by hobiyah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Actors, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Merlin (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Androids, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Boo Seungkwan-centric, Canon Universe, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Childhood Friends, Children, China, Confessions, Dimension Travel, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Loves Seungkwan, Fan/Celebrity Relationship, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gangs, Ghosts, Gun Violence, Guns, Happy Ending, Historical Fantasy, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Idols, Injury, Injury Recovery, Inspired by Yuri!!! on Ice, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Multiverse, Mystery, North Korea, OT13 - Freeform, Olympics, On the Run, Past Lives, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Road Trips, Robots, Romantic Soulmates, Science Fiction, Single Parents, Soldiers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Space Flight, Spies & Secret Agents, Sports, Survival, Swords & Sorcery, Trainee, Vampires, War, Werewolves, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, and it aint a sad ending, character death for the fact that seungkwan lives a bunch of different times but no explicit mcd, kind of but not really youll see what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-22 23:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 96,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobiyah/pseuds/hobiyah
Summary: “Are they soulmate marks?” he asks, watching Seungkwan stick up the drawings. An astilbe, an iris, the sunflower, the hydrangea, the bouvardia. “These people are all your soulmates?”“They were,” he replies, stepping back to look at the wall again. It looks nice, with a bit of colour—maybe he’ll sketch their faces next. He’s decent at art, in this life.“You’re like, nineteen,” Jihoon says, sceptical. “I would be surprised if you had one mark, never mind five.”“I haven’t known any of them in this life,” he says, backing up to sit on the floor beside Jihoon, who watches him closely. “I don’t think they even exist here. I’ve tried looking; there’s no record of them, anywhere.”“Explain,” Jihoon insists. “From the beginning.”orBoo Seungkwan lives his lives trying to figure out who he is, where he's from, and why he keeps being reborn. The twelve boys he falls in love with along the way make it worth it.





	1. BSK

**Author's Note:**

> the chapers of this fic are labelled by member for the sake of convinience, but please do read them in order! there's an overarching plot running through each au, and the stories will make more sense with that context, especially the LJH, LCH and SVT chapters. if you're really only here for your one rarepair, I get it, but the whole fic is ideally meant to be read chronologically!  
> also, all seungkwan ships deserve love <3
> 
> ages become important later on in the story; I'm going by the international system, rather than the Korean one. There's also trigger warnings in the start notes of each chapter; they'll contain plot spoilers, so skip over them if you don't need them, but there's also themes of violence and other issues in some of these chapters, so mind them if you're wary of that sort of stuff! the major character death warning mostly applies to the whole multiple lives thing, there's no explicit death scenes (again, the chapter warnings will have details of this)
> 
> you can hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hope_boos) if you wanna talk about seungkwan, or this fic, or anything, really. i hope you enjoy <3
> 
> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): disorientation

“Come on!” he shouts back to Ma, running ahead of her towards the Pledis building looming up ahead on the crowded Seoul street.

He’s been dreaming of this for so long. Even before Pledis had given him a call all those weeks ago, asking him to come and audition. He’s always wanted to sing, to be up on a stage in front of others, but it hadn’t seemed possible for a fourteen-year-old from Jeju Island. This opportunity is a dream, and he’s going to make the most of it.

“Slow down, Seungkwan!” Ma complains. “We don’t all have young legs!”

“And we don’t have all the time in the world, either!” he laughs, checking she’s still behind him as he turns into the building, running up the steps with anticipation. They only have to step into the lobby to see the number of people waiting to audition; there’s young boys and girls everywhere, waiting with parents and siblings, practising their singing or dancing or rapping in any space they can find.

They wait for three hours, and Seungkwan isn’t deterred in the slightest. Instead he sings, belts out loud, practises his runs; tugs at his new shirt and practises bowing to the judges when he enters. The kids leaving in tears make him feel nervous, so the ones leaving with beaming smiles are where he puts his focus.

“Boo Seungkwan?” the woman at the door calls, and he stands quickly, Ma standing with him.

She tugs at his shirt collar and brushes non-existent dust from his shoulders. “Good luck, baby.”

“Thanks, Ma,” he says, and pulls his shirt from her grip, almost running towards the audition room. He waits with the woman for another minute, then the previous boy comes out of the room, seemingly stunned. He walks into the gap he’d left, the space in the middle of the room, facing the four panellists watching him. Bowing respectfully, he greets them with a voice smaller than usual.

“Hello, judges. I’m Boo Seungkwan. Thank you for calling me to audition here.”

“Hello, Seungkwan,” the man to the left says kindly. The other three watch him with impassive expressions. “We called you to audition here, did we?”

“Yes,” he says, wiping sweaty hands on his trousers. “I was casted from a video of me singing.”

“If that’s so, let us hear you sing,” he says, gesturing for him to start.

Seungkwan takes a deep breath in and starts the opening lines steadily.

“ _I long for that voice, I miss you so much I can’t even get up,”_ he sings, closing his eyes and entering his own world, where this singer longs for their soulmate. “ _Time is telling me to forget, but your face becomes even clearer._ ” When he goes into the chorus, he belts all the feeling he has into the lyrics, emoting for his audience. His eyes stay shut until the end, and when he opens them again, the light of the room surprises him. He’d almost forgotten the judges were there.

“Thank you, Seungkwan,” the kind judge says. “You should hear from us in the next few days.” He smiles encouragingly, and Seungkwan smiles back, bowing to each of them before leaving the room again. The woman at end of the table quickly scribbles in her book as he leaves the room, which he hopes is a good sign.

He comes outside and walks up to Ma again, who stands as soon as she sees him. “Well? How did it go?”

“Okay, I think,” he says. “They seemed to like me. They said they’ll contact us in the next few days.”

“You’ve done your best,” Ma says, ruffling his hair affectionately. “They’ll be missing out if they don’t take you on.”

Seungkwan smiles and nods at the floor. She’s his Ma, so she’s supposed to think that, but it’s still nice to hear.

They walk out of the lobby together, Ma walking ahead of him to push at the building door. Just as he’s stepping through the doorway behind Ma, one hand pushing at the glass door, the strangest feeling overcomes him; like the whole world freezes in place, holding him still. The ground beneath his feet is firm and unmoving, much like everything else; like Ma, like all the people on the street outside, like his body, stuck still, frozen. There’s no gentle breeze brushing at his hair; even the air is unmoving, his lungs still in his chest. Then everything distorts, like he’s slipping through a crack in the universe, all wrong, his surroundings suddenly distant. His heart is clenched, and everything is bending, like the universe is swallowing him whole.

He’s not standing in a Seoul street anymore. He’s nowhere. He’s everywhere.


	2. CSC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): off-screen minor character death

“Alright!” Seungkwan claps and stands up to call over the heads of the tiny four-year-olds around him. “Playtime is over! Come to the sitting carpet so we can have some learning time, everyone!”

“But Teacher! We were going to play in the sand box!” He looks down to see a tiny, round faced girl looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“You can play in the sand box later, Yena! This will be a really fun lesson, I promise!” Seungkwan says, crouching to pinch Yena’s cheek gently. “Go and sit down and I’ll make sure you have time in the sand box later, alright?”

“Okay…” Yena concedes, pulling Joowon with her to the sitting carpet. Seungkwan does his best to round up the last few children, pulling them away from their games to try and get half an hour’s worth of learning in them.

“We’re learning about something very exciting today!” he says, ushering Samuel into sitting with the other students. “I’m sure you’re all interested in soulmate marks, right?”

“Yes!” the kids chorus back enthusiastically as Seungkwan takes his place at the front of the class.

“So what do you guys know about soulmate marks already?”

Seulgi’s hand shoots into the air first, straining to be chosen.

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“They appear once you’re in love!”

“That’s right!” Seungkwan praises. “They appear once you have a deep mutual love with someone. That means that you both love each other equally. How about you, Kibum?” He points to the small kid at the side, his hand waving around for attention.

“They only happen for… kissy love,” he says, and Seungkwan smiles and nods.

“Right! The marks are only for romantic soulmates—they don’t appear for friends or family members. Anything else? Yena?”

Yena drops her hand into her lap, slouching with the relief of being chosen. “They don’t disappear even if someone dies,” she says.

Seungkwan is taken aback for a moment—he doesn’t want to think about how a four-year-old knows that—but she’s not wrong. “That’s true, Yena. Once the mark is there, it doesn’t disappear, even if the couple fall out of love, or if someone dies. That’s okay, though, because you can have more than one soulmate mark, right? You can have more than one soulmate in your life, or fall in love with more than one person at once.” He nods at her, smiling. “Great job. Now, does anyone know what the soulmate marks look like?” He picks up the chunky picture book of common soulmate marks to show them.

Most of the hands in the room go up. “Yes, Amber?”

“My mommies have strawberries!” she says, pleased with herself.

“Right!” Seungkwan says brightly, heaving the picture book open to the fruits page. “Soulmate marks can be fruit or vegetables. What else? Byulyi?”

“Flowers,” she says quietly, twisting the material of her dress in her hands.

“Yes!” He turns the page again, showing them the many varieties of flower with the respective meanings written underneath. “Soulmate marks are often flowers, because we have so many different types. What else? Yugyeom?”

“Trees!”

“Yes! You guys have covered the major different types of soulmate marks; they can take the form of any naturally occurring plant. Do you guys think soulmates get identical marks?”

“No!” the kids shout back.

He smiles at them warmly, praising their knowledge. “Wow, you guys are so smart! Marks will be different for each person in the relationship, because they’re meant to represent the individuals, rather than the relationship itself. It’s the sign that they’ll always have each other’s love with them, wherever they go—it’s meant to be a representation your soulmate, always with you on your body. So, if the marks are different, how do you know when you have a matching soulmate mark? Hanbin?”

“They’re in the same place,” he answers proudly.

“Good boy! They appear at the same time, in the same place and position on the body. We have meanings attached to a lot of them, too—often it’s easy to see why a person might have earned a certain flower or fruit to represent them.”

Yena sticks up her hand again.

“Yes, Yena?”

“When will me and Joowon get soulmate marks?” she pouts, pulling the other girl closer to her. “I have loved her for so long, but we don’t have them yet!”

Seungkwan smiles at her, his heart clenching a little at the sight. He doesn’t have favourites, but Yena is too sweet not to adore. “That’s because you only started kindergarten two weeks ago, Yena—many couples have to wait years to get their soulmate marks! They only appear once you know a person very well, and after you’ve been through some life experiences together.”

“Like playing in the sand box?”

Seungkwan supresses a laugh. “Yes, things like that. You two are also too young to get soulmate marks—they usually don’t appear until you’re out of puberty, or at least mature enough to feel true love. Sixteen or seventeen is the earliest you could get your soulmate mark, so you and Joowon will have to stay together for a long time to get your marks.”

“We will do it,” Yena says confidently. “We will be together forever.”

“I’m sure you will!” Seungkwan says enthusiastically, standing up and placing the book back on his chair. “Alright, I have a task for you guys—you’re going to design the soulmate mark you want to represent you. It can be something real, or you can make it up—then write underneath what you think it means. Make sure to share the crayons, everyone!”

The children all stand up in an excited rush, immediately babbling to each other about their future soulmate marks, the colours they want to use first, who they want to sit next to. They’re good kids, though, and don’t fight to get to the paper, taking a few sheets each and sitting down at the tables to start on their creations. Drawing tasks are his favourites—it means everyone is sat down, still, so he’s not constantly trying to headcount all of his thirty kids. They’re always so proud of what they make, too—he wants to see them love their creative expression while they have time to indulge in it, before school starts and they’re studying for the rest of their lives.

One by one they come to him with various pictures; an oak tree, a blackberry bush, a lily, an ear of corn. There’s a spectacular creation from Kibum with a long name Seungkwan daren’t try to pronounce. He says it symbolises creativity, and Seungkwan thinks he’s understood the task better than anyone. Yena is one of the last to come up to him. She’s drawn a simple daisy, but clearly taken much time and care with it—he can see several discarded versions on the floor behind her table.

“It’s beautiful Yena!” he says, holding it up to admire it. Yena is glowing with pride. “Good job! Why did you pick this flower?” He takes out his sticker pack to carefully place a gold star in the corner of the sheet.

“It means purity and true love,” she says, and Seungkwan looks up to give his full attention to her. She’s the first child to know the real meaning of their choice of soulmate mark. “My Daddy has it on his arm. I want Joowon to have it too someday, because it means I’ll be like my Mommy.”

Yena is looking down at her hands as she talks, but Seungkwan feels like this might be the sincerest thing he’s heard from her since she’d started at his kindergarten. He smiles at her warmly, squatting so they can be face to face. “That’s lovely, Yena. I’m sure your Mommy would love to hear you say that. We can show her when she comes to pick you up, right?”

Yena just shakes her head. “Daddy will pick me up.”

“Right,” Seungkwan says. “We’ll show Daddy, then, for sure.” He smiles at her and gestures to the sand box. “Look! Joowon is already ahead of you! Go and play until it’s home time, okay?”

“Okay!” Yena says, running off to the sand box. Seungkwan goes to lay out her picture with the others.

Soon, parents start arriving to pick up their children. They coo over their drawings and thank Seungkwan for doing his job, even as he waves them away kindly. Thirty kids may be tiring, but looking after them is so fulfilling, for him. He does it because he loves it.

There’s a rush of kids leaving at official finishing time, only two or three children left behind as straggler parents come to collect them. It’s not unusual for a parent to be running ten or fifteen minutes late; when it’s just him and Yena, thirty minutes after finishing time, however, he starts to grow worried.

“Did your Daddy say anything about coming late today, Yena?” he asks halfway through putting away the crayons. Yena had offered to help tidy up, which was sweet, but mostly consists of her shoving the toys to the sides of the room instead of where they’re scattered about in the middle.

Yena shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

When they hit the fourty-five minute mark, he takes Yena by the hand to lead her to the office. She doesn’t seem put off by her father’s mysterious non-appearance, skipping down the hallway and peering curiously around the office room. He picks out Yena’s file to find her contact number, and his eyes skim over the name of the parent—Choi Seungcheol. He glances over to Yena, happily kicking her legs as she sits in the desk chair as he picks up the office phone.

Choi Seungcheol picks up on what feels like the hundredth ring, just as Seungkwan is about to put the phone down and try her emergency contact number instead.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Choi Seungcheol?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” He sounds harried, like there’s something else he’d rather be focusing on. Seungkwan can’t help but feel a little resentment towards him; what’s more important than his kid?

“This is Boo Seungkwan from Bobae Kindergarten— the school day finished nearly an hour ago and we haven’t had anyone come by to pick up your daughter?”

“Oh, fuck—ah, God, I’m so sorry, I really lost track of the time—I’ll be there as fast as I can, I swear.” Seungkwan believes him—by the sounds of it, the news has suddenly snapped him to attention, the sound of a chair scraping back and papers being shuffled around. “Is she mad at me?” he asks, anxious.

Seungkwan looks down to where Yena is pushing a roll of tape across the desk. “I think she’ll be fine, Mr. Choi.”

“I’ll be there soon—I’m so sorry—” Seungcheol repeats. “Thank you for calling, seriously, I can’t believe I didn’t notice the time—”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” Seungkwan cuts him off.

“I—yes, see you soon,” Seungcheol replies, ending the call. Seungkwan puts down the phone and gestures out to Yena, taking her hand and helping her hop out of the chair. They stop back at the classroom to pick up their belongings and lock up before he takes Yena out to wait in the car park for her father, sitting on the wall together and Seungkwan listens to her ramble about Joowon, clutching at her daisy drawing. Choi Seungcheol turns up fifteen minutes later, practically falling out of the driver’s seat to run over to Yena. He’s in office-worker attire and an old car, tie fluttering over his shoulder as he picks Yena up from the low wall and spins her around, clutching onto her tightly.

“Daddy!” she squeals as he plants kisses on her face.

“Yena!” he wails. “I’m sorry I’m so late! Can you ever forgive me?”

“Yes!” Yena giggles.

“I’m such a silly Daddy,” he whines, nuzzling at her face. “Aren’t I silly?”

“Yes!” Yena agrees.

“But I’m still your Daddy?”

“Yes, Daddy!” Yena says, squirming away from his grip. “Let me show you my drawing!”

“Yes, of course, show me,” Seungcheol says, putting Yena down she can flatten out the paper.

“Teacher Seungkwan told us to draw a soulmate mark we want to have in the future.” She holds the paper up to Seungcheol’s face as he bends down over her shoulder to look at it. “But I drew Mommy’s mark that you have, because I want to be like her.” She shoves one hand in her mouth nervously, waiting for his approval.

“Oh,” Seungcheol says softly, crouching down to take the paper from her hold. “It’s beautiful, Yena. You’re already so much like her. You know that, right?” He places another kiss to her cheek and Yena smiles, tugging at his sleeve. Seungcheol concedes, picking her up to sit against his hip.

“Teacher,” Seungcheol says, finally turning to Seungkwan in a half bow, clutching Yena to his side. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually so forgetful; it was a crazy day at the office, everything became delayed, I hadn’t realised it was so late. I swear to you it won’t happen again.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Choi. It happens. Yena was very kind in helping me tidy up.” He’d been ready to be stern with this man, but his display of love for Yena had melted him. This seems to be a genuine accident rather than a neglectful father.

“Please, call me Cheol. Can I drop you off anywhere? I didn’t mean to keep you behind.”

“No, it’s alright. There’ll be another bus. As soon as Yena is safe at home, I’ll be happy.”

“Really, it’s no trouble. Where do you live?”

“The Mokdong area. It’s kind of far, you really don’t—”

“Oh! We live in one of the buildings there!” Cheol sounds delighted. “Please let me make it up to you by giving you a ride. It’s no problem.” He’s already walking towards his car, Yena slumped and half asleep against him, tired out by the tidying up.

Seungkwan finds himself nodding and walking after Cheol. After all, if a handsome father is offering you a ride in his car, you might as well save yourself the bus fare. Cheol carefully lowers a floppy Yena into her car seat, strapping her in and shutting the door quietly. Seungkwan opens the passenger side door and hops in.

“Thank you, Cheol.”

“It’s really no trouble. It’s the least I could do.” He buckles himself in and turns the key, starting the engine. “What building do you live in?”

“The West Bank building?”

“No way! We live there too!” Cheol says, laughing brightly as he pulls out of the carpark and onto the road.

“Really? The same one?”

“The very same! Tenth floor!”

“I’m floor three! Wow, I didn’t expect that. Isn’t the kindergarten kind of far out for you guys?”

“We weren’t planning to have her in kindergarten, originally. But then my wife passed away a year ago…” He shrugs stiffly. “I struggled for a bit, passed her around family members until it was too much, and kindergarten became a necessity. By the time I’d come to terms with it and applied, all the local ones were full of enrolled students. Bobae is close to my office, so it’s not too far to come for her after work. Just a little further to get home.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Seungkwan says quietly. He wonders if Yena remembers much of her mother.

Cheol just smiles sadly, used to the condolences. “Thanks. We’re coping.”

“That’s good. What do you do for work?”

“Some pretty boring real estate stuff. It pays the bills, so.” He shrugs. “Do you do anything apart from the kindergarten job?”

“Only hobbies,” Seungkwan says. “Bobae pays the bills. I love it, though. The kids are so sweet. Yena is a little angel. She’s lucky to have such a caring Dad.”

Cheol smiles softly. “And such a kind teacher.”

They make easy conversation for the next half an hour of the drive. Cheol is talkative and personable, and it makes Seungkwan feel at ease. He doesn’t get to talk to too many fathers as part of his job; even the dual father families often have female family friends pick up their kids. Cheol seems genuine, like he really cares about Seungkwan’s answers, rather than making the polite small talk as other parents tend to.

By the time they’re pulling into their building, Seungkwan is anxiously waiting for Cheol to wake Yena up. He doesn’t want to backseat parent, but if he lets her sleep any longer, she won’t sleep well tonight.

“Yena, baby. We’re here. It’s time to wake up.” Cheol shakes her lightly as he unbuckles her. Yena just grumbles and stays in her seat, so Cheol caves and picks her up again.

“Would you like to come in for food?” he asks, shutting the door and locking the car before they head over to the elevators. “I can make extra Ramyeon, no problem.”

“Ramyeon?” Yena asks, raising her head and rubbing her eyes. “The red packet?”

“Anything for you,” Cheol promises, hitting the tenth-floor button.

“Thank you for the lift, and for the offer,” Seungkwan says gratefully, hitting his own floor number. “But my flatmate is cooking tonight. Moonbin might actually kill me if I don’t turn up to eat it.” The elevator pings at floor three, and Seungkwan walks out of the doors.

“Then you’d better get back to him,” Cheol agrees. “We’re flat 105 if you ever want to pop by!”

“Same to you! I’m flat 32!” Seungkwan calls as the doors close, waving at Yena. Yena and Cheol both wave back, and it makes him giggle as the doors slide shut. He makes his way to his apartment with a smile on his face.

-

He pays attention to Cheol more from then on, greeting him whenever he comes by to pick up Yena (thankfully on time), making short conversation before he has to move onto another parent. He finds himself looking for excuses to come and visit apartment 105, but can never quite find a good enough reason. When he opens his door one Tuesday evening, faced with an anxious Cheol wringing his hands, it’s almost a relief.

“Ah! I’m so glad I remembered the right apartment number.”

“Hyung?” Seungkwan says. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really, to be honest. I came to ask a big favour, if you’re not too busy? An emergency has come up—my brother has been admitted to hospital. I need to go and be with him in case it’s serious, but I don’t want to bring Yena—it’s late, and hospitals scare her. Of course, if you’re busy, I can manage—”

“Say no more,” Seungkwan says, already moving back into his flat to pick up his essentials and shout his new plans through to Moonbin. “Do you know how long you’ll be out?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know what happened, I only just got a call from the hospital, because I’m his emergency contact.”

“Don’t worry about it, Hyung,” he says as they enter the elevator together. “This is what I took six years of childcare studies for. I’ll look after her. Focus on your brother”

“Yes. I know you will.” Cheol smiles, and he looks worn out. “She needs to be put to bed soon, then you can use the TV, eat from the fridge, anything you need.”

“Sure. Does she need a bath or anything?”

“Already had one. She’ll just want a bedtime story.” He unlocks the apartment door, Seungkwan following after him.

“Teacher Seungkwan!” Yena exclaims in surprise.

“Hello there, Yena!” Seungkwan says, kneeling to accept her hug.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m having a sleepover!”

Yena gasps in excitement. “With me and Daddy?”

“Actually, just with you, baby,” Cheol says, grabbing his bag and joining him in kneeling by Yena. “Uncle Seungmin is sick, so I need to go out and help him get better. Teacher Seungkwan is going to put you to bed while I’m out.” He takes her face in his hands, but he doesn’t need it to hold her attention. She’s staring at him, wide-eyed.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll be back before you wake up tomorrow, baby.”

“If you’re not, I can bring her to kindergarten,” Seungkwan reassures him.

“Thank you,” Cheol says, standing up. “Be good, Yena, and you can stay up later on Friday as a treat, okay?”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Yena says, her lip wobbling dangerously, clutching onto Cheol’s hand to try and make him stay. “Can’t I come? Daddy, don’t leave,” she whines, and the two men look at each other, seeing what’s coming next.

“I’m sorry, Yena,” Cheol says, prying her fingers away. Seungkwan bends to pick her up so that Cheol can get through the front door. “I’ll be back soon! Be good!”

Yena starts to whine as Cheol is leaving, backing out through the front door. She bursts into tears the moment the door shuts behind him, the confirmation of her father leaving her behind.

“Yena!” Seungkwan tries to grab her attention, but she’s crying and wailing, kicking against him in protest. He lets her down and she runs to the door, trying to get it open, but Cheol has locked it behind him.

“Yena, hey, why don’t you show me your room?”

Yena wails something unintelligible, sliding down the door to sit in front of it, miserable.

“I promise he’ll come back, Yena. It’s only for a short time so your Uncle can get better. Don’t you want your daddy to help him?”

Yena screams louder in distress. “I want to go with him!”

“You can’t, I’m sorry!” he says, trying to sound soothing. “Hey, Yena, have you heard of a pinkie promise?”

She raises her head to look at him, shaking it sadly and coughing on a sob. Seungkwan takes a tissue from the side and goes to sit in front of her, wiping the snot and tears from her face.

“Look, we link pinkie fingers, like this—and I promise you something, and because it’s a pinkie promise, I can’t ever break it.” He squeezes his little finger around hers. “Choi Yena, I promise you your Daddy will be back by tomorrow.”

Yena hiccups once and squeezes back. “You really promise? Super promise?”

“I really super promise,” he reassures her. “Will you come with me so we can get ready for bed? The quicker you go to sleep, the quicker you get to see Daddy again. Okay?”

Yena nods sadly, getting to her feet and wiping at her face dejectedly. She trails through the apartment after Seungkwan until he stops at the bedroom doors, looking between them.

“You’ll have to show me which one your room is, Yena. It’s my first time in your apartment.”

“Okay,” Yena says, taking Seungkwan’s hand and pulling him into the room at the far end. It’s a tiny box bedroom, pictures of cartoon characters stuck on every available wall space. Her little, kiddie-sized bed is in the corner next to a dresser, and with the two of them stood in there, there’s no space left in the room.

“Wow, this is so pretty, Yena!” he exclaims, and Yena stands up proudly, her earlier woes forgotten.

“It’s because of all my Pororo posters!” she tells him. “That one is Crong, and that one is Poby, and I have Loopy over my bed here, because she’s my favourite!”

“That’s so cool!” Seungkwan gasps. “Do you have some favourite pyjamas too?”

“Yes!” Yena says, pulling open her bottom drawer. “My purple ones! They’re really glittery.” She pulls them out, laying them on the bed for Seungkwan to see.

“Oh, I love them, Yena, so pretty!” he croons. “Do you want to put them on now?”

He helps Yena into her pyjamas before they go to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The way she scrubs at them is them is almost alarming in her aggression, but at least she gets the job done thoroughly.

She’s asleep before he’s halfway through her bedtime story, worn out by her tears. Seungkwan feels pretty pleased with himself; he’s been working with kids for years, but it’s been a while since he’s babysat, especially for a distressed child. He leaves her door slightly ajar and goes to sit in Cheol’s living room, working on a lesson plan for next week. He’s passed the point of settling them in, and now actually has to start teaching them simple maths and basic Korean.

Cheol gets back somewhere close to midnight, coming in tired and weary. Seungkwan is sat in front of a quiet TV; the room had grown dark around him, and Cheol doesn’t turn the lights on when he comes in.

“Everything okay?” he asks in a hushed voice, putting his bag down and beelining straight for Yena’s room, poking his head through the doorway to check she’s asleep.

“All fine,” Seungkwan says back in low tones. “She settled down eventually. How’s your brother?”

Cheol pops his head back into the living room, closing Yena’s bedroom door gently.

“He’s stable, now. He’d had a sudden allergic reaction to something. We were waiting the whole evening to see if they could flush it out of his system.” He comes to join Seungkwan on the sofa, low light shadowing his face and making him look tired.

“And you?” Seungkwan prompts.

“Me?”

“Are you okay? That sounds scary.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. He’s too stubborn to be seriously hurt by something like an allergy. I knew he’d pull through.” He looks over at Seungkwan, and his face creases up into a kind smile. Seungkwan wonders how he always manages to seem so happy and genuine when he must be stretched a hundred ways between his daughter, his work, his family, and lingering grief. He finds it admirable; if he could be half the father Cheol is one day, he would be proud.

“I’m really glad he’s okay,” he whispers, and Cheol puts his hand over Seungkwan’s gratefully.

“Thank you so much for watching Yena tonight. You’re such a lifesaver.”

“It’s no problem,” he promises. “Anytime. I love her to bits.”

“Will you join us for movie night on Friday? We usually order food and stay up late together.” He rests his head against the sofa cushion and looks up at Seungkwan with his big, puppy eyes. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to resist when Cheol looks like that.

“Hyung, you don’t have to thank me for helping you out… I’m sure Yena would prefer to spend time with you…” he protests, albiet weakly.

“Yes, I do,” Cheol says assuredly. “And I know Yena would love to have you here. She talks about you almost as much as she does Joowon.”

“Oh, well, that’s how I know I’m loved,” Seungkwan says, genuinely touched. Yena _loves_ Joowon.

“I’ll see you on Friday, then,” Cheol says, standing up, and Seungkwan takes that as his cue to leave. It is late; they both should get to bed.

“I’ll see you then, Hyung.”

As Cheol shows him to the door, he feels the weirdest urge to lean in for a kiss. He shakes it off, bids him a good night, and heads towards the elevator.

-

They’re watching Mulan, because Yena is four years old, but Seungkwan doesn’t want to admit to Cheol that he adores Disney movies, and he much prefers this choice to any grim adult movie they could be watching anyway. Yena does, however, hush them every time they try to hold conversation, strict about paying attention to the movie instead. It’s endearing, but it means they don’t get to talk properly until it’s Yena’s (late) bedtime, and they’re putting on a second movie. This time it’s the grim adult movie he’d feared, so he’s happy to talk over it instead.

“How’s your brother doing?”

Cheol nods, finishing his mouthful of chicken. “A lot better, thanks. He convinced the hospital discharge him yesterday; he can’t be kept down for long. I seriously think Yena is the only thing that can tire him out.”

Seungkwan laughs. “I can attest to that. She’s a very enthusiastic child.”

“I don’t know how you do it with a room full of kids, all day, every day.” Cheol shakes his head in amazement.

“Ah, they’re good kids really.”

“All of them?” Cheol raises his eyebrows at him.

Seungkwan picks up his drink and averts his eyes playfully. “Well… most of them…” he says into his cup. Cheol laughs, and Seungkwan joins him, taking a swig of his drink. “No, really, they’re all good kids. Some of them need a time out if they’re being too rough, and some of them need encouragement to make friends.” He shrugs. “It’s what I signed up for. If I can help them even a little bit, I know I’ve done my job.”

“You’re a good teacher.” Cheol’s voice goes from playful and giggly to sincere in a second. “Seriously, she was so upset about having to start kindergarten—then after the first day there she comes back rambling about Teacher Seungkwan, he’s so nice Daddy, he’s so funny, he introduced me to Joowonnie…”

“Yes, I think I managed to match a pair of soulmates about fifteen years too early,” Seungkwan laughs. “Maybe I should go into the matchmaking business instead.”

“Does that mean you’ve found yours?” Cheol asks.

“No, not yet,” Seungkwan says, and he finds himself averting Cheol’s eyes as he answers. “Been focusing on school, and then this job, for the last few years of my life. Kids are more lovable than adults anyway.”

Cheol nods. “That’s understandable. You’re still young. I only have Eunbi’s mark.” He pulls back his shirt sleeve; a daisy rests against his bicep, pretty and delicate and looking just like the one Yena had drawn. “She had an astilbe flower for me.”

“It’s beautiful,” Seungkwan says, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the smooth skin. They let the silence hang for a few moments before he asks, “Do you miss her?”

Cheol looks down at his feet, his mouth pulled into a line.

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I asked that. You don’t have to answer.”

“It’s okay.” Cheol looks up at him reassuringly. “I do. Every day. It was so hard at first, but I’m bearing it now. As long as you have something else to focus on, you can push through it. I have Yena. She’s everything to me.”

“Honestly, I think you’re amazing, Cheol,” Seungkwan says, overcome by sudden truthfulness. “Doing everything you can for her—I don’t meet many single parents, but I can tell you’re providing as much as two. You’re really strong.”

Cheol looks at him for a moment. The light from the movie is flickering across his face, and Seungkwan can’t get a read on his expression.

“Seungkwan,” he says sitting up slowly so that he’s not resting against the sofa, but rather leaning into Seungkwan’s space. “If what you’re really asking is whether I’m ready…”

Seungkwan holds his breath, hoping Cheol is on the same page as him. By the way his face is coming closer, the way he can feel Cheol’s breath brush against his cheek, he thinks he might be.

“I’ve always got space in my life for someone like you,” he says, his face so close to Seungkwan. There’s a minute pause, and then Seungkwan closes the rest of the space between them, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

It’s brief and sweet, because Seungkwan doesn’t want to push too hard—Cheol might believe he’s ready, but the death of a soulmate lingers, and he’s anxious not to upset him. Cheol, apparently, doesn’t have the same reservations—he has the sweetest smile on his face, beaming at Seungkwan before he moves forwards to peck his mouth again, resting his hands over Seungkwan’s on the sofa. It makes Seungkwan smile and respond, turning his hands up so they can link their fingers together. Cheol presses the kiss to his mouth for a few seconds before backing off.

“I’m so glad I didn’t have the wrong idea about that,” he says, sighing and putting one hand over his heart in relief. The other stays in Seungkwan’s grasp.

“You’re way too handsome for there to be any other idea,” Seungkwan replies, biting his lip and resting his head back on the sofa, looking up at Cheol. “Was that okay?”

“That was more than okay,” he smiles, leaning down again to press a kiss to Seungkwan’s forehead. “You’re so cute.”

“And handsome?” he pouts. “Cute is what I call my kids.”

“And handsome, and beautiful, and pretty, and kind, and funny, and caring, and any other words you want,” Cheol says, trying not to laugh through it, though Seungkwan knows he means it. “Also, I really like you, but Yena isn’t your kid yet. That’s moving too fast.”

“She’s mine for six hours a day, five days a week, unless you want to move kindergartens,” he challenges.

Cheol side-eyes him. “I’ll consider keeping her there if you swear there’s no kidnapping plans in the works.”

“I can promise that, but you should keep Yena in the picture if you want to continue this,” he says, gesturing between them. “I liked Yena before I liked you, Choi Seungcheol. Remember your place.”

“Oh, I will,” Cheol says. “Even my own mother likes Yena more than me. I know my value in this world.”

“As it should be,” Seungkwan laughs, leaning in to kiss him again.

-

Somewhere between Seungkwan becoming a permanent resident at movie night, Yena spending some nights with her Grandma because Daddy and Teacher Seungkwan want to have ‘bonding time’, and Seungkwan joining them in the weekly grocery shopping, Yena starts to question what’s going on some six months into their relationship.

“Daddy,” Yena says one day, when she’s sat in the kiddie seat of the shopping trolley. They’re at the mart together, and Seungkwan had moved back into the next aisle to grab something they’d missed, but he can hear Yena’s high voice carrying over the stands of food, can see the two of them inspecting cereals through the shelves.

“Yes, baby?” Cheol says, reading the ingredients on a box of cereal.

“Are you and Teacher Seungkwan soulmates now?”

Seungkwan’s heart stops, hand gripping the tin he had picked up. He stills in his path, holding his breath for Cheol’s answer.

Cheol seems taken aback too—Seungkwan can see him looking up from the box to focus on Yena. “We don’t have any marks, Yena. Maybe we will be, but not yet.”

“Do you want him to be?”

Cheol pauses for a second. “One day, yes. That would make me very happy.”

“Does that mean you love him more than Mommy, now?”

Cheol’s shoulders heave in some air and he puts the cereal box back on the shelf. “Yena…” he starts, pausing to take her tiny hands in his. She watches him with big eyes.

“I don’t want him to replace Mommy,” she says in a small voice.

“He’s not. Yena, no one can replace your Mommy,” Cheol says, with the utmost conviction. “I will always love her, and we can always remember her, Yena, and she’ll always be your Mommy. But you know people can have more than one soulmate, right? You don’t have to stop loving people if you lose your soulmate. I have a lot of love to give, and first it was shared with Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Seungmin—and then your mother came along, and then you came along, and now Teacher Seungkwan has come, too. I can love all these people at the same time. And if Teacher Seungkwan can be my soulmate, it means there’s more love for our family to share. Don’t you love him too?”

Yena nods, biting at her sleeve nervously. “So he’s not replacing Mommy?”

“Never,” Cheol says. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to call him Papa—maybe he can be an extra Daddy to you. That’s your decision to make. If you want to just call him Teacher, or Oppa, or whatever you want—he’s an extension to our family. It’s a good thing, right?”

“Okay,” Yena says after a minute of consideration, then starts kicking her feet gently in her seat. “I think it would be weird to call Teacher Seungkwan Papa, though.”

“Okay,” Cheol says, a relieved laugh bleeding into his voice. “That’s fine. Maybe we’ll talk about this again when you graduate from his class.”

“That’s ages away,” Yena says with conviction, though she’s barely a year away from starting Primary school.

“That’s true,” Cheol agrees, and Seungkwan rolls his eyes. He’s always so soft for her, and it’s ridiculously endearing. “Speaking of Seungkwannie, where did he get to?” He starts pushing the trolley again, headed towards the end of the aisle. Seungkwan quickly wipes at his wet eyes before they can turn into his aisle.

“There you are!” Yena calls triumphantly, reaching out for him. Seungkwan lifts her up out of the chair and into his arms, though she’s really getting too big to be babied like this whenever she demands it. Maybe he’s too soft for her too. Sue him.

“Hello! Sorry about that, I was stuck between—” he looks down at the tin in his hand, “—the brands of canned tomatoes.”

“But you don’t even like tomatoes!” Yena exclaims. She saw through his hustle way too fast—Cheol, too, is looking at him with a soft expression, like he knows exactly what Seungkwan had been doing standing in this aisle.

“Yes, but I have to get the best brand for my babies, don’t I?” he says, placing the tin in the trolley.

“I’m not a baby anymore!” Yena complains.

“That’s right, you’re a big girl now!” he agrees. “But this one is definitely still a baby,” he whispers to her, gesturing to Cheol. Yena giggles, delighted at their conspiracy.

“Hey! I’m the most responsible person here!” Cheol whines.

“Hmm, I’m sure you are,” Seungkwan tells him, voice light. He plucks the shopping list out of Cheol’s hand. “Here you go, Yena, you’re in charge of the list now. I don’t think babies should be in charge of shopping, do you?”

Yena shrieks in a delighted laugh and shakes her head at him.

“Quite right,” Seungkwan says, depositing her into the shopping cart where she stands at the front of it, like the captain of a ship. “Where to next, Yena?”

“Cereals!” she exclaims. “The baby forgot to pick any up!” She points at Cheol and bursts into another stream of giggles.

Cheol starts pushing the trolley gently, turning back to the previous aisle and sighing. “I’m going to rethink our relationship if you start turning my daughter against me, Boo Seungkwan,” he says, but he lets Seungkwan kiss him on the lips anyway.

“I told you,” Seungkwan says, looping his arm around Cheol’s waist as they traipse through the store. “I’m here for Yena. You can’t get rid of me now.”

-

Seungkwan moves into apartment 105 six months later, and another six months after that, Yena is enrolled into Primary school. On her first day she talks their ear off over dinner about her new classes, new friends, new subjects—they’d been more scared than her for her first day, they think. It takes a while for her to settle into bed, high on the thrill of her day.

He’s sat on the sofa, reading through his messages and waiting for Cheol to finish in the shower so that they can go to bed, when there’s a loud noise from the bathroom.

“Hyung?” he calls out in a low voice, not wanting to wake Yena after they’d spent so long trying to put her to bed. When he gets no response, he ventures into the bathroom to find Cheol sat on the shower floor, holding his right arm.

“Are you okay? Did you fall?” he asks, opening the shower door to kneel down by him. Cheol continues blinking ahead at the mirrored wall of the shower, not responding.

“Hey,” Seungkwan says, reaching out for the shower handle to turn the spray of water off. “You’re scaring me. What happened?”

“I thought I’d be fine with it, but I guess it’s freaking me out a bit,” he says, sounding out of breath. “The water was hot, and I couldn’t breathe for a second—so I fell. I’m fine, though.”

“What’s got you freaked out?” Seungkwan puts a hand on his shoulder gently. Cheol meets his eyes in the mirror, then takes his hand away from his arm. In the steamed-up mirror, he can see the disfigured reflection of a blob of colour. When he moves to the other side of Cheol to look at it properly, he finds a red chrysanthemum flower marking his arm, standing proudly in full bloom.

He gazes at it, uncomprehending, only snapped out of it when Cheol asks him, “Do you have an astilbe?”

Seungkwan shifts to pull his t-shirt sleeve back for them both to see. Sure enough, there’s a purple astilbe flower climbing up his right arm, mirroring Cheol’s chrysanthemum.

“Woah!” he gasps, almost falling over in his squat at the sight. “Oh my God!”

This is what he’s been waiting for—God, for so long—and it’s freaking _him_ out, so he can’t imagine how Cheol is feeling. He tries to reel in his urge to yell in delight, and looks over at Cheol, a little out of breath himself.

“Are you okay? God, I know this is a lot—” He keeps running his hand over the mark, but the skin feels exactly the same, no raised mark or colour residue. The flower is a part of him, planted there, firmly rooted in his skin.

“Seungkwan,” Cheol says, cupping his face in his hands to stop him from fidgeting. “I’m really happy. I’m so happy it’s here.”

“You’re not upset?”

Cheol shakes his head. “It’s crazy to see it there—look, it’s opposite the daisy.” He turns to show his other arm—and he’s right, the two flowers are in the same place on both arms. “But I love it. My angels, sitting on each shoulder.”

Seungkwan leans in to hug Cheol, mostly to cover up the fact that he’s near tears. “I’m so happy, Hyung. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m even luckier to have you,” Cheol replies, holding Seungkwan tight. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the astilbe flower: patience & dedication


	3. JWW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): injury & wound, blood & pain, sickness, hunger, guns, violence, warfare, imprisonment, discussions of death, minor character deaths

The guard throws the bowl into the cell carelessly, the stew sliding across the stone floor. By the time it hits Seungkwan’s leg, half the content is spilled out, mingled with the dirt and pee staining the floor. It wasn’t enough to feed them both to start with, and there’s no sign of any more food being sent their way.

“Hey,” Seungkwan says, his dry throat aching as he speaks. “Can we get some water? We’re human. We won’t last much longer without it.”

The Anija shows no sign of hearing him, much less understanding his request. It simply moves onto the next cell, lazily handing out meals to the other prisoners.

“For fucks sake,” he says, leaning his head back against the stone wall. He tries not to move his cuffs—they dig into his skin every time he does, his wrists going numb with the pain.

“I think we need to enact plan B,” Wonwoo murmurs, “while I still have the strength left to carry it out.”

“Trying to escape this place is a death wish, Hyung, and you know it,” he replies, closing his eyes. “They’re keeping us for something, aren’t they? Hostages, or slave work, or something else that they need us alive for.”

“They must have over twenty different species locked up in here,” Wonwoo reasons. “They’re not exactly researching methods of care, and neither of us know a word of Anija. They’ll kill us through neglect.”

“Our base really should have taught us some language basics before sending us to war,” Seungkwan sighs, looking over at Wonwoo’s thin face and matted hair. He’s right. They need to do something, and soon.

“You don’t need to make basic conversation with someone who’s trying to shoot at you, Seungkwan.”

“You do when they’re about to accidentally starve you to death as their prisoner.”

“But that isn’t an option for us right now,” Wonwoo says. “So we need to go with Plan B. Stealth and tactical navigation was my special training; I can get us out of here, if you trust me.”

“I hate this,” Seungkwan informs him. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

“I’m always right,” Wonwoo replies. “Eat what you can of that stew. You’re going to need your strength.”

They put the plan into action a few hours later. Wonwoo lays limp and silent whenever an Anija passes in the corridor, or when they can hear the guard situated around the corner. By the time the second sun has set, they’ve gone over the plan enough in hushed whispers that he knows it back to front. He’s still wary, but it’s probably their best shot of getting out of here alive.

“Please! Can someone help us?” he shouts desperately. He’s not sure if any of these Anija speak any Earth language, but surely they can understand panic. “He needs help! Will someone come and help us?”

A big, horned Anija rounds the corner, staring in at the cell. They’re huge beasts, twice as strong and nearly double the height of a man, their faces unnervingly stoic and gruff. It sees Wonwoo, lying still in his chains, and makes a calling noise to the guard close by, who comes to unlock the cell door. It enters the cell and starts to shake him roughly, but Wonwoo stays still and unresponsive. The horned Anija makes some clicking noises, and the other seems to agree, handing over a key from his belt so that the first can unlock Wonwoo’s cuffs. He does so, then slings Wonwoo’s body up over his shoulder, and the guard turns to leave the cell. As soon as it’s back is turned, Wonwoo springs into action, grasping the first Anija with his hands, giving him leverage to swing his legs up and squeeze around the its neck. With the Anija moving to pry Wonwoo off rather than going to its weapon, Seungkwan has the room to kick its gun out of its belt, hard enough for Wonwoo to grab it and shoot the Anija guard in the doorway. The horned Anija finally throws Wonwoo off, but Wonwoo rolls over quickly and shoots him from the ground, its huge body hitting the cell floor with a thud. They both lie there for a few moments, breathing fast in front of the bodies of two Anija, waiting to see if anyone had heard the commotion. Anija weapons are smooth, quiet, and though the sounds of the bodies hitting the floor weren’t quiet, the cells are located underground, separated from the upper land by thick stone walls. No one seems to have heard, other than the disturbed chatter of prisoners from other cells.

“Told you it would work,” Wonwoo huffs, pushing himself up to pry the keys from the guard’s belt.

“Never doubted you,” Seungkwan replies, heart thumping.

“Is that so?” Wonwoo says, crouching down by Seungkwan and thumbing through the keys. “I seem to remember differently.”

“Are you going to free me or continue bragging about being right?” Seungkwan says, twisting his body to give Wonwoo access to the chains on his wrists, even though his wrists ache with the effort.

“Jeez, these were way too tight on you,” Wonwoo murmurs, sticking the key in the lock and trying to force them open. When they give way with a click, Seungkwan feels like he can breathe again, bringing his aching hands in front of him for the first time in days.

“Yeah, no kidding. The Anija really need tips for taking care of their prisoners.” He flexes his fingers and attempts to stand on wobbly legs, trying to stretch his muscles back into feeling again. “I don’t know how you did all that so well. I can barely feel my feet.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Wonwoo tells him, already at the cell door, peering down the corridor. “Stay close to me, stay quiet, and cover my back, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Seungkwan says, picking up the second gun from the guard’s belt. He’d studied Anija weapons before being sent out into the battlefield; they’re advanced enough to adapt to the species they’re aimed at, firing differently depending on the target. They’d sent powerful blasts of energy at the Anjia, who have a thick skin, hard to penetrate, but muscles weak to electricity. It’s a highly sought-after weapon for it’s efficiency.

Wonwoo leads the way down the hallway, past the jeers and shouts of the other prisoners. Seungkwan feels a little bad, just walking past them like this, but they’re too much of a risk to bring with them in an escape plan, and most of them are the enemies of humans, anyway. When you’re in a seven-planet war, it’s hard to trust any species.

They creep up the stone steps out of the cells, moving further away from the noise below them and emerging at ground level. Wonwoo uses the guard’s keys to open the door at the top smoothly, then does a quick sweep of the room ahead before leading Seungkwan into the hall facing them. Anija architecture is huge to fit their size, and he can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the massive room, doorways arching way over their heads, everything made of stone or carved from marble. He’d feel a lot more intimated if the room were full of enemies, though, so he tells himself to be glad for the empty, eerie room.

They crawl close to the wall, in case there’s anyone peering in through the windows. It gives them enough cover in the shadows of the room that when an Anija comes lumbering in, Seungkwan spots it a second before it sees them. He shoots as it’s raising its gun at them, causing it to fall to the ground with a thud. Then they can hear the battle cry of a group of Anija in the next room, and the sudden clop of heavy footsteps.

“Run,” Wonwoo says, shooting the lock on the door ahead of them and racing out, Seungkwan hot on his heels. They run down a long corridor, the sound of weapon blasts echoing behind them, somehow reaching the front door of the building untouched. Wonwoo shoots that one open too, jumping down the oversized steps and bolting towards the cover of trees. Seungkwan does the same, twisting to fire back every few seconds—his speciality is marksmanship, and he hits a target every time, despite tired muscles and an unfamiliar weapon.

Once they’re at the trees, they have a good chance of getting away; Anija are strong, not fast. The trees on planet Nerthur grow thick and dense, making the forests great cover around a home base, but hard for Anija to navigate quickly. Humans are much more adept to darting between them, and they can hear the roars of angry Anija behind them as they begin to leave them behind, sticking close together and careful to jump over the stark tree roots by the light of bright Nerthur stars.

They keep running, only the sound of their heavy breaths filling his ears; the pump of his heartbeat and the feeling of adrenaline rushing in his veins are all he knows. Trees pass by in a blur as he follows Wonwoo’s lead, hoping all his navigation knowledge is taking them in the right direction, and he’s not just following a man running out of fear. Wonwoo is a squadron leader back at base, and he’s been Seungkwan’s boyfriend for years, so he has more trust in him than in anyone. Still, they’re miles away from base, and they’ve barely survived the past few days. It’s enough to reduce the best soldier to fear.

And exhaustion, it seems. They’ve barely run five miles, and Seungkwan knows he should be able to go further—has done it numerous times in training—but his body is screaming in pain, his every muscle tight, his breathing short. “Wonwoo—wait,” he calls ahead. “I need a minute.”

They both slow down, Wonwoo looking back at him in concern. “Don’t you think we should go further? You must have killed half a dozen of them back there—they won’t let us go so easily.”

“I’m exhausted, Wonwoo—how are you barely out of breath?” He bends over to rest his hands on his knees, struggling to speak.

Wonwoo shrugs, coming closer to help support Seungkwan. “The adrenaline, maybe?” He gives Seungkwan a minute to catch his breath, then points up at the sky. “That constellation is in line with our base—I think we can get back to camp in two days if we keep up a steady speed. Are you ready?”

Stopping hadn’t made it any easier to breathe. In fact, he’s becoming more aware of a burning in his side, of the shake in his limbs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—it burns, Hyung.”

Wonwoo looks him over with a furrowed brow. He grips Seungkwan’s arms in his hands, trying to look him over, turning him around gently. It’s when he’s looking at him from the back that Seungkwan can feel him still.

“What is it?” he asks, looking into the black, silent forest ahead of them as Wonwoo lifts up his shirt at the back.

“Seungkwan, you’ve been shot.”

He feels his breath catch in his throat as Wonwoo runs gentle fingers over a wound on his lower back, and it makes his side spike in pain. “Sorry—I’m trying to see it properly.” He uses his sleeve this time, wiping gently at the blood and crouching to peer at the wound underneath it. He lifts up Seungkwan’s shirt at the front to check his stomach, but the skin there is smooth, unbroken.

“I think the bullet is still in you,” Wonwoo murmurs softly. “That can’t be comfortable, huh?”

“Yeah, that would explain the burning pain,” Seungkwan says through gritted teeth. With the adrenaline subsiding and the wound now apparent to him, his whole body is trembling with the effort of their escape. Wonwoo starts stripping his shirt off, and Seungkwan grabs his wrists quickly. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses. They’re both only in thin undershirts, the rest of their armour stripped from them before they were imprisoned, and while night-time in the Nerthur forest isn’t cold, it isn’t exactly warm either. With a lack of food and bodyfat, they need all the insulation they can get.

Wonwoo faces him, twisting his wrists out of Seungkwan’s grip easily and continuing to pull off his shirt. “We have to keep going, ideally without you bleeding to death on the way there,” Wonwoo says, beginning to rip his shirt into strips.

“I’d like for you not to freeze to death too,” Seungkwan says.

“I’m not the one who’s been shot,” Wonwoo snipes back, lifting Seungkwan’s shirt again and beginning to layer material over the wound.

“Fuck, I’ve been shot,” Seungkwan mutters, feeling dizzy for a second. He tries to think through what this means; they’re two days away from base, at best, enemies to every side of them and a bullet in Seungkwan’s back. Not just a bullet, though—a bullet from an Anija gun. A bullet shot with good aim is enough to kill any human—through the head, or through the heart, or some other major organ. That’s not enough for an Anija gun, though—they like certified kill counts. What if an Anija has bad aim? How else to ensure the death of a target?

The burning might not be the bullet wound alone. If a bullet doesn’t kill a human, poison certainly would.

Wonwoo fastens his makeshift bandage securely and straightens up, looking at Seungkwan. “You okay?”

Seungkwan nods silently. The poison doesn’t seem too fast acting—he doesn’t feel ill beyond the wound area—but he can’t have more than two days to live, if the wound or infection doesn’t kill him first. “Other than the bullet wound? I’m great. Ready to go.”

Wonwoo nods. “We just have to keep walking and hope we can get there before an infection sets in. We’re too close to the Anija base to rest.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, letting Wonwoo take his hand to pull him through the forest of thick, imposing trees. “Let’s go.”

-

Nights on Nerthur are short, and the first sun starts to rise only a few hours later. They continue walking through the day, anxious that gunfire might start at any time, but raids on base camps are a much more favoured type of warfare between the seven planets due to the difficulty of navigating the dense Nerthur forests. Seungkwan and Wonwoo had been captured during such an Anija raid on their base—it had been mostly unsuccessful otherwise, with the human camp increasing its fortifications every day.

Seungkwan collapses somewhere around the time of the first sun set, when the sky is gleaming red and orange with the dim light of only the second sun. He’s mostly supporting himself on Wonwoo at this point, his side on fire with the burning pain of the bullet. He stumbles over a tree root and his legs completely give out, shaking with the effort of their walk.

“I need to rest, Wonwoo,” he says through short breaths. Wonwoo helps him lie down, supporting his head as he flops back onto the hard dirt. “And so do you. We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’ll be okay if we sleep for a little while.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo concedes, lying down with him, too drained from the journey to disagree.

His body starts slipping into sleep almost immediately, and he only stays conscious with the thought that he could die in his sleep tonight. He’s scared, but more for Wonwoo than himself. They’ve been together for so long now, it’s hard to imagine one of them without the other.

“Wonwoo?” he says. It’s physically difficult to talk, to bring in enough air.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Wonwoo’s gentle touch rests over Seungkwan’s heart, and he carefully lays to rest by Seungkwan’s good side, sharing their body heat. “Please wake up when I call you in the morning.”

He doesn’t have the energy to answer. He’s already halfway into blissful sleep.

-

He’s shaking all over, and there’s a pressure on his side, on his chest, clutching at his throat. Everything burns. Everything hurts. There’s a noise trying to make its way through the fog around him, but it feels abrasive against his ears. “Seungkwan? Seungkwan!”

He puts all his efforts into prying his eyes open, tears sliding out without his control. He can’t catch his breath, can barely see Wonwoo leaning over him—he’s mostly just a shape, backlit by the sunlight behind him. He knows it’s him, though, because Wonwoo always touches him so gently.

He’s the one shaking him, trying to rouse him, but Seungkwan wants to tell him to stop, it’s too much, it hurts everywhere. “Seungkwan, can you hear me?” Wonwoo cups a cheek and looks into his eyes. “Can you see me?”

Seungkwan replies by rolling over and throwing up everything he’d eaten yesterday—bugs and bark and a little tree sap—barely digested and lying in front of him mockingly.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo says, with emphasis. Seungkwan is shaking again, but not because Wonwoo’s hands are moving him anymore—he’s freezing cold, shivering under the bright sun above them. Wonwoo puts a hand to his forehead. “Jesus, Kwannie, you’re burning up.”

“So cold,” Seungkwan mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. He’s only able to sit up with Wonwoo’s supportive hand at his back. His body is worn out, coming to a halt already. “Go ahead and get help,” he manages to stammer out, resisting the urge to throw up again. He doesn’t think he has anything left in him, anyway.

“You and I both know you won’t last long enough for me to get to base and back,” Wonwoo says, brushing some of Seungkwan’s hair out of his eyes. “Let me check your wound, yeah?”

Seungkwan doesn’t have much choice in the matter, too weak to resist. Wonwoo helps him lay back and rolls him over so gently, carefully picking apart the bandage. He thinks he might have fallen asleep again, because Wonwoo seems to be done in seconds, helping Seungkwan sit back up against a tree.

He kneels in front of Seungkwan and takes a deep breath. “The bad news is, I think the bullet was poisoned. The skin around the wound is colouring blue, so this is more than a fever.” Seungkwan slides his eyes shut. He’d been hoping to spare Wonwoo of the poisoning knowledge—hadn’t wanted to take his hope away from him so fast. He opens them again to look at his boyfriend, trying to blink tears away.

“And the good news?” he says hoarsely, wondering what optimism Wonwoo has possibly come up with for him.

“I came up with a plan last night. It’s a crazy one, but I think I’ve received a sign from God that I need to do it.”

Seungkwan tries to make sense of that answer for about two seconds, but he’s too tired to think properly. Wonwoo doesn’t even believe in God. “What?”

Wonwoo stands and turns his bare back to Seungkwan. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus on what he wants him to see—the mark of a flower on his side, right where Seungkwan’s bullet wound is. He lifts a heavy arm out to touch—the skin is sweaty but smooth, the sign of a genuine soulmate mark.

“Do you know what flower it is?” Wonwoo asks, twisting to peer at it.

“A chrysanthemum,” he says, and wonders how he knows that with such certainty. “What’s yours?”

“An iris, I think. Hard to tell under the wound, so I think you need to get medical treatment, ASAP.”

“That’s why I need medical treatment? Not the fact that I’m on death’s door?”

“Isn’t my flower more important, soulmate?” Wonwoo says, kneeling down in front of Seungkwan, cupping his face in his hands.

“Of course, soulmate.” Despite everything, Seungkwan manages a smile. “I can’t believe they appeared now, of all times.” He can believe it, actually. He knows why they’re here. It’s mother nature looking down and taking pity; she’s saying, _I might as well give him his mark before he dies._

“Like I said, it’s a sign. Trust me. I’m going to get you help. Can you stand?”

“No,” he says, after a pause. He doesn’t need to try—he can’t try. Nothing will work. He can barely breathe, barely pay attention to what Wonwoo is saying, never mind stand.

“Then get on my back,” Wonwoo says, squatting down in front of him and showing Seungkwan his bare back, hands held out to receive him.

Seungkwan stares at the chrysanthemum and says, “No.”

Wonwoo shifts to face him again. “Seungkwan—”

“You can’t carry me all the way to camp,” Seungkwan slurs, chest heaving with the effort. “I know you’re not strong enough. I won’t hurt your chances of getting back alive by dragging you down with me. I’m going to die, Wonwoo.” He reaches out to grab Wonwoo’s hand, and Wonwoo gives it to him readily, squeezing his fingers. “Please let me go. Please go back and live, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo looks at him for a moment, face serious. Seungkwan can tell he’s exhausted; maybe that’ll make him give in and see sense.

“Are you done?” Wonwoo says. “If you are, we have to go.”

“Wonwoo—” Seungkwan says. A few tears slip out and run down his face, but he doesn’t have the energy to wipe them away, or carry on protesting. His head lolls against his chest.

Wonwoo wipes the tears away for him, gentle fingertips brushing his cheeks. “Put your arms around my neck. I can hold your legs, so you just need to rest against my back.” He pulls the hand he’s still holding over his own shoulder, giving Seungkwan his back again and dragging his other arm over his shoulder too. It strains on his wound, so he whines and reluctantly links his hands together, which allows Wonwoo to put his hands under his thighs supportively. Seungkwan can tell it takes all his strength to stand up—he can feel Wonwoo’s body shaking under him, but he makes it, standing up straight and only stumbling once, gripping Seungkwan’s thighs securely. He starts walking into the forest, slowly at first, but soon getting into a stride, and the rhythm of it lulls Seungkwan back into a fitful sleep. Time passes in a disorienting way, the identical surroundings and unknown lengths of time sleeping making him confused and worn out.

The sight of the foreign building ahead of him startles him. He can barely keep his eyes open, but between the fluttering of his eyelids, he can see big walls of metal, gleaming in the afternoon light. Here at the edge of the forest, the sun bounces off it, forcing his eyes shut again with the gleam.

“Are you ready?” Wonwoo says.

He wants to reply, _where are we?_ But he can’t. He doesn’t feel like he can do anything; he can only remain limp, trying to force his eyes open, trying to follow what’s going on.

Next, he can hear Wonwoo shouting something. It startles him—he hadn’t said anything on the journey, too focused on carrying Seungkwan’s weight. It’s difficult to concentrate on the words. He can hear the mechanic voice of a Synthedrion in reply, and alarm bells go off in his head—what the hell are they doing at the Synthedrion base? They’ll be dead in seconds, surely.

“I submit wholly to you,” Wonwoo is saying, attempting to bow under Seungkwan’s weight. “I can’t reach my gun from here, but I won’t resist you. He has one too—it’s the only weaponry we have. It’s all we have.”

“Why come here to surrender willingly?” the Synthedrion says. He can feel the gun at his belt being unhooked.

“He’s sick. He’s hours away from death—he’s stopped responding to me. Your technology can help him.”

“Why should we save an enemy soldier?” the Synthedrion voice asks. Seungkwan focuses hard to keep up with the conversation, to stop himself from slipping into sleep again.

“He’s one of our best shooters. We were taken prisoner by the Anija because we both have specialist skills—skills good enough to escape the Anija base camp. If you heal him, we can both provide services for you, under your orders.”

Oh, Wonwoo. This is your grand plan. You should have let us both die in the forest, he thinks, as he finally gives in to the pull of sleep.

-

He has strange dreams. He’s singing for a panel of stern-faced judges. There’s a handsome man who isn’t Wonwoo, but he has the right flower, the red chrysanthemum. A little girl runs around the house, calling out his name. He thinks these are dreams he’s had before, but that thought slips away as soon as he has it.

The flower on his side burns.

-

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is a white ceiling, pure and clean, completely different to the Anija base. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, trying to focus.

“Welcome back, Prisoner 160198,” a mechanic voice says, and he snaps his head to the side to see a Synthedrion situated beside him. He sits up in alarm, but can’t move very far; he’s handcuffed to the sides of the bed he’s on. They’re much more comfortable than the Anija chains, at least.

“Hello?” he tries, trying to remember how he got here. They escaped imprisonment, and he was injured, and then it’s mostly a blur—he remembers looming trees all around them, a burning feeling in his side, and Wonwoo’s red chrysanthemum, smooth to the touch. “What’s going on?”

“You were brought here by Prisoner 170696. He promised your service in return for your life. You’ve been unconscious for a very long time,” the Synthedrion says, and he can hear the disapproval in her voice. “A whole four days!”

“I’m… sorry?”

If he’d somehow made it back to the human camp, he might have been put in a coma, sent off to a medical base and kept there for months to try and fight off the foreign poison. In the end, he probably would’ve died. But the Synthedrion camp have fixed him up in four days. The wound doesn’t even hurt—he gingerly feels for it with his fingers, only to come across smooth skin. He twists to see his soulmate mark, and he doesn’t feel a thing—he can find no indication he was shot at all. There’s only a purple iris flower, unblemished and beautiful.

“Eat,” the Synthedrion says, gesturing to a bowl of porridge at his bedside. “It’s time for you to prove your worth. Your survival here depends on you being as skilled as Prisoner 170696 has promised.”

The Synthedrion uncuffs his wrists, and he has no choice but to comply. He’s unarmed, and starving—he doubts they’ve slipped anything into it, anyway. As for as he knows, the Synthedrion prefer intimidation tactics to ensure the subservience of their slaves, rather than relying on medical or physical torture methods.

It doesn’t take him long to finish the bowl, and then he’s led out of the white room and down an equally white corridor. There are Synthedrion everywhere he looks, milling about at their individual tasks. He wonders what they’ve done with Wonwoo; if he’s given up knowledge of the human base in order to stay here, close to Seungkwan. It would endanger the security of their entire base, but selfishly, he wishes for it. It would mean he’s alive and well and still here, close enough to get back to.

A few minutes later they enter a narrow room with targets set up at one side—a shooting range. The Synthedrion pulls out a long rack of weaponry and picks up the first gun in the row, handing it to him. He can see her personal shooter is raised, trained on him.

“Hit the target, first time,” she instructs. He raises the weapon up, adjusts it in his grip, and looks down the scope. He doesn’t think this is Synthedrion weaponry—they embed everything in their bodies, anyway. He must be their tester for the foreign weapons they’ve accumulated. Perfect.

He shoots and a quick, thin beam of light bursts out, hitting the centre of the target perfectly. He does it twice more for reliability; the Synthedrion are a very analytical species. She says nothing, however, simply takes the weapon from him and hands him another one. The target disappears and pops up again further down the room. Without needing instruction, he takes the new weapon, aims, and fires. A spurt of electricity burns a hole right through the bullseye.

She hands him a third gun. Perfect—he had used the same one days ago during their escape mission, and killed half a dozen Anija with it. In a show of adjusting a setting, he causally points it in her general direction so that the sensor can pick up on the species of the target. Then, he holds the gun up, looking just above of the target, where there’s a metal bar fixing it to the ceiling.

The Synthedrion are analytical, but very self-reliant. They’re a species that work on patterns and perfection, and thus not very good at predicting the actions of a wilder species, like a human.

He aims the shot just right so that the blast bounces off the metal bar and comes back, slamming into the side of the Synthedrion. She’s out of commission before she can even comprehend what he’s done, the shot attacking her source of power and shutting down the battery immediately. Anija guns; cruel in their brilliance. He knows from experience.

He stops to look at the mangled glass and metal left of the Synthedrion, thinking carefully. He’s in the middle of the Synthedrion compound. His objective: to find Wonwoo, and escape with him. Can he pass through the base undetected? He thinks so; they’ve already put him in the plain white uniform of a slave. He imagines he should have a Synthedrion accompanying him until he can be trusted on his own, but unless he comes across the Synthedrion that did his surgery or something, no one should know that. Right?

It’s not like he has much choice. He needs to leave the scene of the crime and somehow locate Wonwoo. Acting as a slave is his only real choice at getting around unquestioned. Slaves aren’t allowed weapons, and the Anija gun is way too big anyway, so he goes back over to the rack and picks up a tiny pistol to shove in his waistband.

“Find Wonwoo, get out,” he mutters to himself, stepping out through shooting range door, hoping no one will be going in there for a while.

He has no idea where he’s going, but looking clueless would be a dead giveaway, so he walks forward with a calm confidence, passing by other Synthedrion and slaves in the hallway without being stopped. He keeps walking, hoping to see something that will give him a sign, but everything is plain and white and clean, identical-looking and unyielding. He does a loop of the ground floor and finds nothing.

On a whim, he steps into an elevator just as another human slave is stepping in. He daren’t ask them anything—it’s had to know the level of Synthedrion oppression here, and they might be deep enough in the slave mindset to report him—but hopefully they’ll lead him to the slave quarters, or something. They step out of the elevator a couple of floors later, and Seungkwan marvels at how well built this temporary war base is—that’s Synthedrion technology, he supposes.

They seem to walk forever, through winding corridors and past a multitude of rooms. Thankfully, his instincts had been good—the slave eventually pushes through a set of doors into a huge hall room, lined with hundreds of beds. Close to him are small pools of water, sirens and other water species resting in them, and further up, bundles of straw containing some Anija slaves curled up and sleeping. On the far side of the room are the human beds; it must be night outside, as most of them are occupied. It doesn’t take him long to spot a familiar, thin form asleep on one of the beds, though he looks more well fed than when Seungkwan saw him last.

He suppresses the urge to shout to Wonwoo, to let out relieved laughter, instead moving through the rows to sit on his bed calmly, like a good, obedient slave. He shakes at Wonwoo’s shoulder, trying to wake him up subtly. He can’t help but smile, seeing him here, healthy and unhurt. Against all the odds, they’re alive, and together.

“Hmm?” Wonwoo hums and blinks, turning over to look up. As soon as he sees Seungkwan’s face beaming down at him, he sits up, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hi,” Seungkwan says in his ear, still anxious not to draw attention to them.

“Hi,” Wonwoo says, then pulls back to look him in the face. “I’m not dreaming again, am I?”

Seungkwan presses a quick kiss to his lips. “No. You did it, Hyung.”

“You’re really alive,” Wonwoo whispers, holding Seungkwan’s cheek with one hand. “When they took you away for surgery, I couldn’t feel your pulse. I thought I was too late. They wouldn’t tell me anything—I had no idea if you were alive. I’ve just been waiting here and hoping.”

“Thank you for having faith in me,” Seungkwan breathes. “I should’ve had more faith in you. Your plan worked.”

“You’re alive,” Wonwoo murmurs. The human slave Seungkwan had followed into the room is watching them from her bed, and he can feel her stare on their backs. “But the plan hasn’t worked yet. We need to get out of here first.”

“Yeah, about that—I kind of killed my Synthedrion supervisor in the shooting range. As soon as they find her, they’re going to be looking for me. We need to make a plan, and fast.”

“This place is fortified to hell,” Wonwoo says in a hushed voice. “They’re the most technologically advanced of the seven planets—we can’t just sneak our way out this time.”

Seungkwan glances over Wonwoo’s shoulder to where the slave is still watching them. “Are you about to snitch on us?” he asks, making bold eye contact. “Or are you hoping to break out too?”

Wonwoo turns to look at them too, and the slave looks right back, staring at Wonwoo, then back to Seungkwan. “I think I have a way we can help each other.”

Seungkwan smiles. That’s more like it. “What’s your name?”

“Jeongyeon.”

“What do you have in mind, Jeongyeon?”

She moves over from her bed to crouch beside Wonwoo’s, speaking quietly. “I’ll explain it simply. I was brought here because of my technical skills. I’ve been working with the Synthedrion on their systems, their weaponry, helping them strengthen their fortification against human hacking. The main flaw of the Synthedrion is that they tend to underestimate others; they know this, and brought me in to help strengthen them against it. But I’ve only been working for them on the surface. They’ve revealed to me where the power core of the building is; they’ve allowed for me to make friends with other slaves, and one of the slaves in communication tells me she could call for help, if she wanted to. I know the code for their energy barrier is weak. They assume we’re well behaved and continue to underestimate those of us who live right under their noses. For machines, they have mighty big egos.”

“What have you been waiting for?” Wonwoo asks. “If you could take down their defences and call for a rescue raid, why wouldn’t you?”

“We only have one shot at this,” she replies. “A raid from the outside isn’t enough; we need to occupy them while we take down the core, too. We need to rally the slaves together and make an attack from the inside at the same time as one from the outside. For this, we need leaders—someone to bring the slaves together and direct them. I’ll be frank; I know who you are. Jeon Wonwoo, tactical squadron leader, and Boo Seungkwan, the best marksman on base.” She shrugs, but there’s a spark of rebellion in her eyes. “It’s like you’ve come to save us.”

It takes some time, a universal translator, and some conditions of a temporary alliance between the species, but the hall of slaves are convinced without too much resistance. Most of them are kept for their skills as soldiers, like Seungkwan, and seem to have been itching for such an opportunity to strike back. Jeongyeon stands up to convince the rest of the room, full of technicians and engineers, slaves kept for their practical skills, like Wonwoo. They divide the room as such and take up stances as leaders of both teams; Jeongyeon to lead the technical attack, Wonwoo to lead a small defensive team protecting them, and Seungkwan to lead the group of soldiers drawing attention away from them all.

The soldier slaves have already started leaving the room one by one so as not to draw attention; half are headed to the armoury, the other half the shooting range, where they’ll meet again and begin the attack from the inside with stolen weaponry. He watches as Wonwoo talks to the technical team, explaining the plan; the communications slave had already gone ahead to call for an outside raid, and Jeongyeon’s knowledge of the building would take the rest of them through the task of disabling the power core. When the Synthedrion are distracted by Seungkwan’s inside raid, they’ll disable the shields and allow the outside raid to enter the base. It means the inside raid will be on their own at first, and the tactical team would have to barricade the core to prevent the Synthedrion putting it online again. It’s a risky plan, but if the outside raid is efficient, it’s possible to pull off. They could take down the whole Synthedrion base, the sturdiest base in this war, through the power of slaves.

Seungkwan hands his tiny pistol to Wonwoo, who slips it into his waistband. “Be careful. Look out for your team, but especially for yourself,” he says, then kisses Wonwoo firmly. “We didn’t come this far to fail.”

“Same to you,” Wonwoo says, rubbing a thumb over the skin where Seungkwan’s wound used to be, like he finds comfort in the wholeness of it. “I don’t want you to die on me again.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. “See you soon.”

Wonwoo nods at him, reluctantly letting him slip out of his hands. “Be safe.”

The battle is rough. They have the element of surprise on their side, and manage to take down several Synthedrion before their first soldier falls, but they can’t be subtle. The whole point is to raise alarm, take attention away from the technical rooms of the building, and it makes them a huge target. They’d managed to scavenge some armour, but with it being Synthedrion size, only the humans and the sirens can fit into it. Seungkwan is sure it’s the only reason he’s still alive, and his heart wrenches every time another slave falls to the blast of a Synthedrion shooter.

Some ten minutes in, the alarms stop ringing, and the whole base goes pitch black. He can feel a wave of energy shake the whole building—the feel of the core shutting down, and the shields being disabled with it. The Synthedrion are thrown into a frenzy—he can hear the whirr of their machinery around him, trying to rectify the situation, but no one is shooting any more, too afraid to hit an ally in the dark.

Then the side of the building blasts open, throwing them off their feet. Sunlight from outside streams in along with the human soldiers who shout and call for a surrender. The Synthedrion carry on shooting, glad to have clear targets back, but with their defences down and numbers depleted, it doesn’t take long for the humans to bring the base under their control.

“Hey—they’re not an enemy! They fought with us!” he tells a human guard cuffing the slaves, but he goes ignored. He doesn’t have authority here anymore. “Can you listen to me? We’re in an alliance, they won’t attack—”

“Know your place, soldier,” one of the superiors says sharply.

“He said they’re on our side,” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the noise around them. Seungkwan turns to see him pushing through the room towards him, and feels the tension in his body release. He’s okay. He’s alive. “There’s no need to treat them roughly. They’ll come with us freely. They were slaves here, like us.”

He looks sternly at the other squadron leader, who looks right back. They both technically have the same level of power—the general must be elsewhere on site—but Seungkwan can see the admiration in his face when he looks at them. With Wonwoo here now, he must recognise Seungkwan, too—he wonders what stories have been spread about them back at base, if they’d already been presumed dead. Prisoners of other camps didn’t often come back alive. Living prisoners of two different camps are unheard of, and they’d managed to bring down a whole base with them.

Finally, the leader nods at them, and the soldiers loosen the handcuffs. The squadron leader salutes before he walks off to help secure the building.

Wonwoo turns to him with a smile, and Seungkwan beams right back, kissing him with relief. “We did it.”

“We sure did.”

“For the record, your plan to bring us here was as crazy as you promised. It’s almost impressive, how reckless you are.”

Wonwoo breaks into a smile. “There’s no reward without a little risk, soldier. You were well worth the risk.”

“And a good enough reward?”

Wonwoo takes Seungkwan’s hands in his own. “I couldn’t think of one better.”

Seungkwan intertwines their fingers. He wonders how long he could get away with just standing here, holding Wonwoo. “Do you think we’ll get a vacation for this? Bringing down one of the seven planet bases?”

“We’d better. You died in the process.”

“You’re right, I did,” Seungkwan muses, squeezing his hand. “We deserve a holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iris flower: intelligence & wisdom


	4. LSM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter: alcohol mention

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he says, looking up into Seokmin’s face desperately. “You know that I love you. But my pack won’t allow it. The history between wolves and vampires—it’s too much to overcome.”

Seokmin watches him, his eyes big and pleading. “Please don’t let this divide us. I know we can overcome the divide between our kind.” He gets down on his knees. “I love you.”

Seungkwan blinks rapidly, letting a tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry. I have to stay with my pack. I have no choice.”

He backs away slowly, and Seokmin watches him go, devastation written on his face.

“Yes! That was great!” the director says, standing up and clapping for them. The two producers sat next to him also hurry to clap along, and Seungkwan jogs back over to Seokmin to help him stand again. “I think that’s all the scenes we wanted to run through, so thanks a lot for coming in today. We’ll be in touch soon about the part.”

“Thank you, Director!” he says cheerfully, bowing in gratitude. Seokmin does the same next to him before they make their way out of the audition room to pick up their bags and coats.

“You did so well in there!” Seokmin says enthusiastically. They’d only been introduced an hour ago, but Seungkwan can already tell he deserves the part—he seems genuine, and he’s a very good actor. “I’m so glad I got to do my chemistry screening with you!”

“Oh, thank you!” he replies, beaming. He’s satisfied with how the audition had gone, and it leaves him feeling generous. “Hey, if you’re not busy, do you want to grab a drink or something?”

“Yeah, sure! I haven’t eaten yet if you’d like to grab lunch?”

“I’d love that.” He doesn’t want to be too hopeful, but he’s never reached the final call-back for auditions before, never done a chemistry screening with someone as talented as Seokmin. Maybe hanging out with his potential castmate would be good karma; would finally land him a main role, after so many auditions.

“I know a good place only a couple streets away, if you like buffets?”

“I love buffets. Genius invention.”

They exit the building together and head down the street, side by side, Seokmin slightly leading. “So how did you hear about Forbidden Bite?” he asks, his tone high and a little nervous, like he’s eager to make a good impression. Seungkwan thinks it’s sweet, considering neither of them have even been cast yet.

“I’ve been going to all the auditions I could find for the past couple of years, trying to get any role available. My agency put me through to this one just like all the others. I’ve had a few minor roles, but I’ve never made it this far as a main character. I’m so nervous for the call, honestly.”

“Yeah, I can relate to that a lot. I’ve been working dead end jobs in the city for the past three years, trying to break in somewhere.”

“I’m surprised it’s taken that long,” Seungkwan says, honestly. “You look like the handsome lead everyone is looking for.”

“Ah, thank you!” Seokmin laughs like he’s embarrassed. “The same for you!”

“Pfft, don’t even try,” he says, waving him away. “You’ll get this part, for sure.”

“If I do, you definitely will.” Seokmin pulls gently at Seungkwan’s sleeve to direct him through the restaurant door he was about to walk past. “Let’s be hopeful!”

“Cautious optimism is my constant state of mind,” he says. “Hey, does this place do Thai food?”

The call comes less than twenty-four hours later. He finishes his shift at the brunch place and finds six missed calls from his agent—he calls her back with his heart in his throat, not daring to hope for the best.

“Jeonghwa?” he says as soon as he hears the phone click at the other end.

“Seungkwan!” she shrieks, making him hold the phone away from his ear. “Where have you been?”

“At work—”

“It doesn’t matter! Seungkwan, you’ve got the part! They want you for the part of Dohyung; shooting starts in spring!”

He suppresses the urge to scream, standing in the middle of a Seoul street, but he can’t help the few excited garbles that slip out. “You’re kidding me!”

“No joke! All you have to do is sign the contract, and you’re in! It’s a five-year contract, but you’ll only have to fulfil that if it’s popular enough to get renewed. Regardless, the role is a huge opportunity, Seungkwan, it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning against a wall to catch his breath, his heart racing in his chest. “It really is. Who got the part of Joonoh?”

“The other main character? It says here— Lee Seokmin? Do you know him?”

Seungkwan smiles wide. A passing woman looks at him strangely, so he covers his mouth with his hand, but it doesn’t dampen his mood. The script isn’t the best thing he’s ever read, but he likes the director enough that he thinks he can get into this character. Having Seokmin opposite him, too, is a blessing—he already can’t wait to start shooting, playing a teenage werewolf and kissing the cute lead male. “Yeah, we did our chemistry screening together. He’s a good guy. He probably helped me get this part; I had more chemistry with him than I did my last girlfriend.”

Jeonghwa laughs down the phone. “I have a feeling this is going to be really good for you, Seungkwan.”

“I hope so, Noona.”

-

He works at the brunch place for another week or two before they start calling him in for dress fittings, stunt training, table reads. They even bring him in to stand in front of a green screen for an hour so that they can get a scan of his face for the CGI wolf. He’s sees Seokmin around a lot, as well as a few of their other cast mates, and they exchange easy conversation and mutual anticipation. He and Seokmin seem to be two of the youngest actors, at nineteen and twenty respectively, and the only rookies, which helps them bond quickly.

The first day of shooting, however, is nerve-wracking. He doesn’t even have that much to do; Seokmin is the main protagonist, and they’re filming him entering the high school for the first time. All Seungkwan has to do is look at him as he passes in the corridor, a lingering look to establish him as a character, a semi-rival initially. Still, he finds himself stressing, working himself up then talking himself down again, and Seokmin approaches him right before they’re set to start.

“You ready?”

“I thought I was, but I’ve just realised we’re actually here,” he says, and Seokmin laughs, high and just as nervous as he is.

“You’ll be fine. You already look pretty, so you’ve done half of your job already.”

Seungkwan swats at him half-heartedly. “It’s all thanks to the hair and makeup department, honestly.”

Seokmin nods, but he can tell it’s for the sake of satisfying him. “You are really handsome though,” he says, soft and genuine.

Seungkwan isn’t really sure how to answer that. He’s saved by the call of the director asking for silence on the set, and the two of them get into position at opposite ends of the corridor, ready to walk towards each other.

The first week or two of shooting passes like that. He’s mostly there for Seokmin to glance at or to ask about, rather than having a hefty part to play. When he finally gets his own scene, talking with Seokmin’s character, he’s so nervous that he starts muddling up lines, speaking too early and leaving words out. By the time they’re on their seventh take, he’s disheartened and overly apologetic towards the production team. Seokmin pulls him aside gently.

“Hey, don’t be so nervous. Seriously, I know you can do it!”

“I can’t, I’ve messed it up too much… I’m in my own head, and it’s hard to get out when I know everyone wants to hurry up and wrap up this scene,” he says, biting at his thumbnail, then stopping before the makeup Noona yells at him.

“Then don’t think about yourself,” Seokmin says. “Think about me. Dohyung is focused on Joonoh, right now—he’s trying to intimidate him, to make him feel unwelcome. So put those thoughts about him in your head instead, and the lines will come naturally.”

Seungkwan has never thought about acting like that. He’s always considered the necessity to be inside of a character, and through that, be inside of the scene. To focus on another character entirely feels like strange advice, but at this point, he’s willing to try anything.

“Okay,” he says, and the director calls for a new take, so they move back into their positions. It’s a close shot, over Seokmin’s shoulder and tight on Seungkwan’s face, but he tries to ignore the camera and focus on Seokmin, who’s looking at him with all the curiosity of Joonoh in this scene.

“Action!” the director cries, and Seungkwan looks up at Seokmin with a steely face.

“So the question, Kim Joonoh, is not who I am. It’s who you are. You and I both know you don’t fit in here.”

“I’ve only been here three days. Why are you trying so hard to push me out?”

“I know you can’t be here with good intentions. People like you never are. If you stay for much longer, you’ll find out how this town treats outsiders.”

He walks out of the shot to end the scene, throwing a dirty look back over his shoulder.

“Cut!” the director shouts, standing up. He comes over to clap Seungkwan’s shoulder with satisfaction. “That was the one, Seungkwan. Nice work. Alright, let’s do a wide shot of this scene next.”

Seungkwan smiles at Seokmin, who’s practically beaming back at him, shooting him a playful thumbs up in congratulations.

-

At some point, they start reading their new scripts together. They only get given them a day or two before shooting each new episode, but it turns out they don’t live too far from each other, so after shooting they head back to someone’s apartment to do quick read throughs. Usually, Seungkwan ends up sleeping on Seokmin’s floor, or Seokmin crashes on Seungkwan’s couch for the night. It means they can carpool to work the next day, too, and as they only have a small amount of their wage in their accounts, it’s an easy mutual decision to make.

Some four months into shooting the receive a script with their character’s first kiss. Neither of them had read ahead, so it comes as a surprise to the both of them when they’re halfway through a read through and suddenly the directions say _Joonoh leans forwards to kiss Dohyung, cutting him off_. It’s a classic; a passionate monologue on Seungkwan’s part, dramatically interrupted by the actions of the love-struck protagonist. Seokmin had gone to brush his teeth while waiting for Seungkwan to read his bulky paragraph of a speech, and thus choking on his toothbrush when he reads that particular character direction.

He runs back into the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste as Seungkwan laughs at him. “You okay there?” he teases, following after him to pat at his back helpfully.

“I didn’t see that coming!” he says once he’s cleared his lungs, picking up his now damp script. “I zone out for one minute and suddenly we’re making out!”

That wouldn’t be so bad, Seungkwan thinks. “I think it’s less of a make out and more of a kiss of passion. Joonoh can’t control his feelings any longer; the kiss is his confession!”

“Why can’t he use his words?” Seokmin grumbles. “Joonoh is too impulsive. Half the plot of this show is him getting into trouble because he’s too curious and reckless.”

“You mean you don’t want to kiss me?” Seungkwan says, leaning against the bathroom counter and pouting at him.

“No! I mean, yes! I do—I mean—it’s not that.” He blushes, and Seungkwan is endeared.

“Oh really?” Seungkwan raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, enjoying this too much.

“It’s just—” he stutters, floundering. Seungkwan giggles at him. “To be honest, I’ve never done a kissing scene before. So… sorry if I’m too nervous, or something.”

“It’s okay, I haven’t either. You’ve kissed people though, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “No soulmate though. You?”

“Same. We’re on the same level, then! Don’t worry about it, Hyung. I won’t tell anyone you’re a bad kisser if you don’t.”

Seokmin shrugs and rubs at his arm. “I never said I was a bad kisser.”

“Is that so?” He’s never seen someone brag so shyly about kissing skills. “We’ll see about that on this next shoot.”

-

“I was trying to warn you!” Seungkwan shouts. “Vampires don’t last long here—either the werewolves get to them, or the hunters do. For you to be here is madness—I keep telling you to leave, but you keep coming back! It puts you at risk! I need you to tell me why, Joonoh. After all you’ve found out about this town, what have you possibly got to stay for?”

Seokmin takes Seungkwan’s wrists in his hands—and adlib on their part, in response to his hand movements during his monologue—and leans down to kiss him confidently. Seokmin hadn’t been wrong—he is a good kisser, moving his mouth just right, warm and insistent on Seungkwan’s lips. Still, it’s hard to fully enjoy it with a set of twenty staff, huge lights and three different cameras focused on them.

He leans back, looking at Seungkwan with an intense gaze. He stares right back at him, mouthed parted in surprise (but only a little, to make it sexy).

“I come back for you, Dohyung.”

“Cut!” the director shouts. “Nice job, guys. Very natural. Let’s go to the close shot next!”

-

Things heat up quickly between Joonoh and Dohyung. The next script they receive has a mild sex scene—it’s a family friendly show, so it cuts away before anything can get too risky, but there’s directions about heating kissing and Seokmin taking his shirt off to make the implication clear to the audience.

“Wow, I was not expecting this,” Seokmin says in a quiet voice, a blush on his cheeks. “I thought we’d only just be kissing at the season finale.”

“The finale will probably be the 'I have to choose my pack’ scene we did in the chemistry screening,” Seungkwan says, coming to sit on the sofa beside him. “Us having sex first just makes that choice more impactful, you know?”

Seokmin flushes deeper, and it makes Seungkwan wonder. If he’s this embarrassed talking about it, how are they going to shoot it? “Hey. Do you want to practise?”

“Hm?” he says, peeking at Seungkwan over the top of his script. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

Seungkwan shuffles down the sofa until he’s sat next to Seokmin. “I mean _this_ scene,” he says, pointedly. A pause hangs in the air between them. “If you want to.”

“Do you want to?”

“You’re a good on-screen kisser, Seokmin,” he says, biting his lip before he dares continue. “I’d like to see if you’re good off-screen, too.”

“For the sake of practise?”

“For any sake you like.”

“But is this for the run through, or more than that?” he asks, adamantly.

Seungkwan supresses a laugh. “I really like you, Seokmin. Do you want to have sex?”

“Oh, yes,” Seokmin says. “I do want to.”

“Good,” Seungkwan says. He leans forward to kiss Seokmin soundly, then shifts so he can straddle Seokmin’s lap and kiss him again, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

They break the kiss so Seokmin can strip his shirt off. “For the record, I don’t think Dohyung would be so forward.”

“How about Seungkwan?” he asks, before kissing at Seokmin’s jaw, then the skin under his ear, travelling to the base of his neck. “Am I doing well?”

“Very well,” Seokmin breathes, chasing after his mouth to kiss him again, letting Seungkwan push him down into the sofa.

-

When they’re done shooting, there’s a short press tour to try and promote the show. The solo interviews are nerve-wracking, but most of the time he’s with Seokmin or other members of the cast, which is less of a burden and more of a fun pastime. The day after the last shoot, he sleeps in his own flat without Seokmin’s company, for the first time in months. It feels strange and empty—he’s become too used to his constant singing and rehearsing, the easy conversation and easy company. Though he knows he’s supposed to be proud of his work and excited for the show to air, he can’t help but feel apprehensive; what if this is the only significant role he has in his life? What if he and Seokmin don’t talk after this? They’d become so close, so quickly, and while it’s hard to define their relationship, he definitely wants to continue whatever it is they’re doing. He wallows in self-pity for all of a day before Seokmin calls and asks if he wants to go to the theatre to see one of his friends in a production. He jumps to say yes, pulling himself out of his funk and getting ready to go on this date-not-date in record time. After that, he finds himself back at Seokmin’s apartment most of the time—or in a coffee shop with him, or a museum, or at the movies, or walking in the park. They don’t call them dates, but they kiss a lot, and buy food for each other, and have sex afterwards, so. He’s pretty sure they’re dates.

Ma asks him to come back to Jeju for the premiere of his show, but he’s adamant about watching it with Seokmin instead—he knows Ma is inviting his whole extended family around to watch it, and he’s not sure he can take the pressure. He much prefers the security of being curled up on Seokmin’s sofa, being able to bury his head in a cushion every time he gets embarrassed seeing himself on screen. It’s not as bad as he expects—mostly because he’s not in the first episode a whole lot, and he can focus on Seokmin instead, able to watch the scenes he didn’t film like a normal viewer would. It’s almost a shock when he shows up on screen, ten months younger. He can practically hear his mother screaming in delight all the way from Jeju.

“You were so good, baby!” she tells him through the phone later.

“I didn’t have any lines, Ma. I get introduced properly next episode.”

“Still! You were the star of the show!”

“Thanks, Ma. What did you think of Seokmin?”

Seokmin stops typing his own message to side-eye him. Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows back.

“Which one is he?”

“The main character. Joonoh.”

“Oh, yes. He’s very handsome. Very good. Is he the Seokmin you keep talking about?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says. “That’s him.”

“You’ve made a good catch,” she says. “He’s so charismatic!”

“When you come to visit I’d love for you to meet him,” he smiles. “If we get a second season maybe I’ll be able to pay for the flights home more often.”

“I’ll make sure to tell everyone to watch this season, then.”

“Haven’t you been doing that already?”

“Of course! I’ll work twice as hard now, though, if it means you’ll come home.”

He laughs. “Thanks, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

-

He knows the show is gaining a following—the increase of activity on his social media proves that—but it doesn’t seem quite real until he gets approached by fans for the first time. He’s sat in a restaurant with Seokmin, discussing the season renewal—there’s only a few episodes left to air, so they’re only waiting on the broadcaster’s decision now, a second season plot and shooting plan ready to go as soon as they get the greenlight. Two girls approach their table shyly—they look like they might be sisters, no older than twelve and fifteen—to ask for a picture.

Seungkwan is taken aback for a minute—a picture of what? he thinks—before realising he’s having his first fan experience. He looks over to Seokmin, who seems to be experiencing the same thing, and then back at the girls, waiting nervously for an answer.

“Of course, ladies! Do you want all four of us together?” he asks, and the younger looks to her older sister to answer.

“Yes, please,” she says, raising her phone camera to get them all in.

“Say cheese!” he says, ducking down to put his head by the younger girl. The older takes a few shaky pictures and thanks them, taking her sister by the hand to lead her back to their table. The parents sat on the other side of the room take interest in the photos and smile over at Seungkwan and Seokmin gratefully.

“They were so cute,” Seokmin says, looking after them fondly as Seungkwan picks his chopsticks back up. “Oh, my heart hurts.”

The picture circulates social media that night, stirring up excitement amongst their small fanbase about the fact that the two leads are hanging out outside of the show. He gets some tweets asking if they’d been on a date, but he knows he’s not ready to confirm the facts of his private dating life quite yet. He switches his phone off instead, and turns over to cuddle into Seokmin, settling down to sleep.

-

They get the call about the season two renewal not long later. They start filming straight away, leaping into a brooding first episode; Dohyung’s loyalty to his pack is tested, Joonoh tries to face the incompatibility of vampire and werewolf culture, and this season’s villain begins cooking up his evil plan. The shoot seems to go faster than the season one shoot had, perhaps because he’s accustomed to it more now; it’s less a glamourous life change and more of a routine he’s settled into. He gets more stunts, the show gets more of a CGI budget, and he and Seokmin somehow have even more relationship drama than last season. It keeps him working hard, and keeps him happy; he’s determined to enjoy this show while it lasts. Rumour has it the third season will be the last before the studio set to work on something more down-to-earth that they think will be more successful. Still, Forbidden Bite isn’t unpopular. The two of them start to adjust to being recognised in the street, to handing out autographs and posing for photos.

“I can see now why some celebrities get frustrated by it,” Seokmin admits as they stroll through the park together. “Sometimes I’m not dressed up very nicely, or I have no makeup on, and I don’t really want to take a selfie, but I feel bad if I don’t, you know?”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Seungkwan says, watching the kids on the football pitch next to them warily. “You act on the show as work, and sure, they like it, but that doesn’t mean you’re indebted to them, or anything. You can politely decline if you want your privacy.”

“I don’t mind. I find it flattering. I just wish I could buy all the instant noodles I want without being worried I have someone peeking over my shoulder, judging me.”

“Maybe it will shame you into cooking real meals for yourself?”

“Or maybe I’ll just let the internet find out I live on instant noodles. At least it would keep discussion about the show alive until season two airs.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think instant noodles is enough of a scandal to produce more articles about the show.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Seokmin admits. They slow down as the football gets kicked towards them, and a child comes to pick it up, apologetic. “Maybe I’ll do something crazier for the paparazzi to capture instead.”

“You’ve had paparazzi?” Seungkwan asks, surprised. Seokmin hadn’t mentioned that before.

“A couple times,” he admits, shrugging. “Once when I was coming out of the gym, and once when I took my family out for food. They’re a lot pushier than fans.”

“I bet,” Seungkwan says darkly. “They just want a story and nothing else.”

“Ah, they’re just doing their job,” Seokmin says, leaning into him gently. Seungkwan takes him by the hand. “Just trying to get by, like the rest of us.”

“But they could do it without being rude.”

Seokmin nods. “That’s true. It’s not too bad right now, anyway.”

“I hope it stays that way. That’s the bad part of the attention; you can’t pick and choose who is giving it to you.”

“Right,” he agrees. “I’ll just keep choosing you, instead. You give me nice attention.”

“How could I not?” he reaches up to pinch one of Seokmin’s cheeks. “Look at you!”

Seokmin bats him away half-heartedly, pulling up his face mask to hide his wide smile.

-

There’s another round of promotions—wider this time, with more programs and in different places. Their castmates invite them to a night of clubbing to celebrate when it’s done, which, of course, they both heartily accept. They go from a bar to a club to a fast food place and then to a different club, drinking until late into the night. Seungkwan doesn’t remember most of it, but the photos he wakes up to the next morning are quick reminders. As it turns out, some photographer had spotted them in the last club, and a series of photos were published overnight—he and Seokmin making out on the dance floor, unmistakably groping each other. He wonders how wasted they were to not even notice the flash of the camera.

They’re not quite celebrities yet, so it only really causes a stir within their fanbase, and on some gossip sites. Most people have very excited responses, delighted that their favourite TV couple are dating for real. When there’s a boost in ratings for season two, he doesn’t want to think it’s linked to them, but the show’s publicist sends them a nice anniversary card, anyway.

-

They’re greenlit for season three, and the network confirms it will be the final season. He’s sad to hear it—he’s become attached to Dohyung, and to his stupid decisions. He’s glad he’ll get to play a character with a rounded conclusion, at least. He’s always been frustrated by shows that get cancelled without a proper finale.

“We keep doing this!” he shouts through his tears. “We try to commit, it works for a while, but we always go back to our packs in the end—it just hurts us both. We need to make a decision, Joonoh. Either we exchange bites, and become proper mates, or we end our relationship. Permanently.”

“You know we can’t exchange bites,” Seokmin says, brooding on the other side of the set. “It’s never been done before. Your bite would hurt me, but mine could kill you.”

“Not if you’re careful,” Seungkwan insists, coming to stand closer to him.

“It’s not worth the risk, Dohyung,” he says, turning to face him.

“I’m not worth the risk? Aren’t I worth it?”

“How can we risk your life on this?” He shakes his head. “I want you to be safe.”

“There’s risk in everything,” Seungkwan says. “And a reward in everything. Your bite would unbind me from my pack. It would be a chance for us to leave, to give us a new start. But if you’re not willing, just say you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”

Seokmin stands to come closer to him. “I want you more than anything. But not more than I want to ensure your safety.”

He nods in understanding, retreating towards the door of the room set. “I can see you’ve made your choice. Goodbye, then, Joonoh.”

-

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Seokmin calls from the bathroom.

“What?” he shouts back, rifling through Seokmin’s messy drawers for a pair of pyjamas.

Seokmin spits his toothpaste into the sink and comes back to stand in the doorway. “Do you think Joonoh will give in and bite Dohyung?”

“Of course!” he scoffs. “What sort of unsatisfying ending would it be if he didn’t? Besides, it’s what the plot has been working up to. It’s literally the name of our show.”

“Exactly! Wouldn’t it be the biggest plot twist if it never happened?”

“Yeah, and a terrible one!” he protests. “It would mean they couldn’t be together—what have they been doing this whole time if they’re just going to let it go and give up?”

“It’s a sign of how much Joonoh loves him! He knows the bite could kill Dohyung, so he’ll let him go, as long as it means he’ll be healthy and safe.”

Seungkwan squints at him. “No way. That’s far too sensible for Joonoh.”

Seokmin laughs. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He moves back into the bathroom to wash his face before getting into bed. Seungkwan changes his clothes and slips into the bed, scrolling through his phone while he waits for him.

“Hey,” he says when Seokmin comes back into the bedroom, turning off the light and coming over to the bed. “Do you want to move in together once we’ve finished shooting this season? I can’t believe we’ve been going between our apartments for nearly three years. It’s so impractical.” He puts his phone down to look at Seokmin, who’s frozen in place, halfway under the covers.

“Move in?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, you know—live together properly?” He’s not sure what Seokmin is so surprised about—they’ve been unofficially living together for so long, now.

“So we’re continuing this? After the show?” Seokmin asks. Seungkwan pauses, trying to understand his words.

“Continuing—our relationship? After the show?” he echoes. “What do you mean? Are we exclusive to Forbidden Bite?”

“No!” Seokmin hurries to say. “I mean—I was never sure what you wanted—we’ve been in an on-screen relationship this whole time, I wasn’t sure if the end of that would mean…” he trails off, gaping at him uncertainly.

“The end of us too?” Seungkwan says, sitting up and staring at him. “Is that what you want?”

“No!”

“Is that what you thought I wanted?” Is he this much of a bad boyfriend? Hasn’t he made his feelings for Seokmin clear enough?

“I mean—I didn’t want to ask, but I didn’t know either—”

Apparently, he hasn’t. He shakes his head, shock clutching at him. Seokmin had never considered them long-term—does he even consider Seungkwan his boyfriend? He’s never said it out loud—they’re not big on labels, but he’d thought they’d been on the same page, at least.

“Seungkwan?” Seokmin asks timidly. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?” Seungkwan says. He has a million thoughts in his head, and he’s not sure where to start. He needs some time to collect himself, to think about this. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go to sleep, okay? We can talk some more tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Seokmin concedes, leaning over to turn the bedside lamp off. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan doesn’t reply.

-

It’s an early shoot the next day, and they don’t talk to each other in the drive over to set. They sit in silence through hair and makeup, and start shooting the penultimate episode without any real heart in it; the director drives them through take after take until the crew is worn out.

They’re given their final script at the end of the day, and Seungkwan leaves before Seokmin finishes shooting one of his scenes. He goes home alone, reads through the last script alone, and goes to bed alone.

He hates it. He’s going to talk to Seokmin tomorrow, he promises himself. He won’t let them be ruined over something like this.

The next morning, he grabs Seokmin by the arm as soon as he sees him, dragging him into a prop cupboard for privacy.

He’d planned on being mature, clear with his words, but the first thing he does is scream in surprise when he turns the cupboard light on and comes face to face with a prosthetic wolf face. “Jeez. I’m glad I never had to wear this thing.”

“Yeah, me too,” Seokmin says, staring at it. “I’m not sure I could face you properly with that on.”

“Speaking of facing me,” he says, turning to Seokmin. “You’re supposed to look me in the eyes when you deliver your lines. Director-nim looked ready to tear his hair out yesterday.”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head and gathers his courage. “It’s my fault. We should’ve talked about this thing as soon as it was brought up. I’ve had a shitty twenty-four hours. I was just shocked about what you said.”

“Oh, it’s been awful for me too,” Seokmin says, relieved. “I missed you so much, Seungkwan, but it’s not your fault! The more I think about it, the more stupid I feel for saying that. Of course we’re in a relationship. What else would we be?” He rubs his arm, embarrassed. “I guess I didn’t have enough confidence in myself to believe it.”

“If I’ve never made it clear to you that I love you, and that I want to be with you for as long as I can, then that’s my fault. Lee Seokmin,” he says, cupping Seokmin’s face in his hands. “So here you are: I love you. And I want to be with you for as long as I can. Long after this show—hopefully until we’re old and can’t get roles anymore.”

Seokmin laughs, trying to duck his face away. “I love you too. I’m really glad you want to stay with me—I’d like that too. So much. It was silly of me to think otherwise.”

“You’re silly a lot of the time, Seokmin, but if you’re ever unsure about us, you can talk to me, you know?” he says gently. “I don’t want you to get too wrapped up in your own head. I’m here for you. I’m sorry for avoiding you. I should be better at talking to you, too.”

Seokmin nods his understanding, cradling his head in Seungkwan’s hands. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

He smiles and leans up to kiss him. “I do my best. Shall we go and get our makeup done before they send a manhunt out for us?”

They settle in to do the next scene, the director looking hassled and reluctant, clearly not expecting much from them after their performance yesterday. Seungkwan hides a smirk; they’re about to blow him away.

“Action!”

Seungkwan walks further into the woods, looking up at Seokmin when he enters the shot. “What are you doing here?” he hisses, putting his hands on Seokmin’s chest to push him away. “Do you know how close you are to my pack? If they see you on our territory, they will kill you!”

“I had to come and speak to you,” Seokmin says, agonised. “I realised that you’re right, Dohyung. We should try to be together, no matter the cost. I love you—I want to be with you forever.” He takes Seungkwan’s hands in his own, clutching at him.

Seungkwan looks up at him with big eyes. “What happened to the risk?”

He shakes his head. “It’s like you said—there’s a risk to everything. If there’s a risk to the bite, it’s one we have to take; to free ourselves from our packs, from this town. We have a lot to lose, but a lot more to gain.”

“Joonoh,” he says, eyes glassy with tears.

“Anything we do, we should do together.” He looks at Seungkwan, gaze intense. “That’s what matters—that’s what makes it worth it.”

Seungkwan nods, taking in a breath that shakes with emotion. “I love you, Joonoh. Let’s run away together.”

Seokmin leans down to sweep him into a passionate kiss. He gently strokes at Seungkwan’s cheekbone, and Seungkwan holds onto his waist, kissing him back.

“Cut!” the director shouts, and immediately the sound of the set crew chattering and whooping fills the space.

The director is making their way out of his seat over to them. Usually this is a bad sign—it’s his way of quietly encouraging them to try and get the perfect take, if they’ve ruined a few in a row. But this time, he looks practically ecstatic, his hair standing up in all directions from where he’d been running his hands through it.

“Excellent take, lads, good work there,” he tells them, putting his hands on their shoulders to bring them into a huddle. “I have to tell you—you outdid yourselves. Your soulmate marks appeared at the end of the scene—Seokmin’s was perfectly in the shot!”

Seungkwan whips his head around to look, and sees it immediately—the flower mark on the side of Seokmin’s neck, small and delicate and bright red, even under the dim lighting of the forest set.

“Oh my God,” Seokmin says, fingers gently stroking the side of Seungkwan’s neck.

“What is it?” he asks, feeling giddy with the surprise of it.

“A sunflower,” he says, laughing in delight. “Oh my God!”

“You have a chrysanthemum,” Seungkwan smiles.

“We’re soulmates!” Seokmin shrieks, bringing him into a tight hug.

“An hour ago you weren’t even sure if we were boyfriends!” Seungkwan laughs. Seokmin flushes in embarrassment, clutching him tighter and spinning him around.

“If it’s okay with you boys, we might keep the chrysanthemum shot in the show,” the director says, inspecting it closely. “A sunflower isn’t really in line with Joonoh’s character, but we can paint something else onto Seungkwannie… their marks weren’t supposed to appear until the final scene, but these have such perfect placement, you could do the bites right over the marks… excuse me, I need to talk with the producers!”

They barely pay attention to him, jumping up and down and squealing together in the middle of the set. The slate boy is clapping for them, and Seokmin sends him a salute.

“We have to move in together now, right?” Seungkwan asks.

Seokmin giggles and rests his head in the crook of his neck, nuzzling at the sunflower. “Seungkwannie, I would love that more than anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sunflower: happiness and adoration
> 
> if you couldnt tell, the fictional show in this chapter was inspired by teen wolf lol


	5. XMH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): zombies/zombie infection, referenced death, guns & knives, violence, near drowning

He shuffles the papers aside, looking for the stock list that he knows needs organising. Technically, this isn’t within his job requirements, but it’s a good distraction from the anxiety and dread slowly eating away at him while he waits for the scouting crew to come back.

They’d had another hoard of infected at the city walls over the last week. The longer they live, the smarter they get; they’ve realised that there’s life inside the city, a feast of fresh meat ready for harvest. They’re surprisingly strong, and big groups of them can do a lot of damage. The scout teams had been sent out to thin out the herd—they don’t have a lot of spare ammo, but they don’t have a lot of spare fortification, either.

He’s halfway through the third stock list when the town hall doors swing open, the scout team limping through haggardly. The medics spring into action to start looking over each member of the team. Even the uninjured must be inspected for undetected bites; an infected getting into the city is the worst-case scenario. He scans the group of people, agitated; he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Namjoon?” he asks, coming up to the leader, who looks at him, wearied. He knows everyone pities him for holding onto hope—it’s been two weeks since Minghao had gone missing. It only takes three days for a bite to turn you.

That doesn’t mean he can give up.

“I’m sorry, Seungkwan,” he says, wincing as a nurse starts giving him stitches in his arm. “There was no sign of him.”

He nods, gulping down his disappointment and fear. When Minghao had gone out with the scout crew, no one had seen him being bitten or injured—he’d simply disappeared, and hadn’t come back before nightfall, when all scouting crews are obligated to return to the city. He’s been holding onto the hope that Minghao had gotten lost, that he’s wandering around right now, fighting infected and making his way back home. He grips the crook of his elbow, where the mark of the hydrangea is nestled. Surely he’d know if his soulmate were dead?

As the scout team get cleaned up, he files away his work and leaves the town hall, trudging back through the city to his tiny living space. The infection may have wiped out most of the population, but the necessity of ramming the living population into one cordoned off city space meant crammed living situations. He’s never minded that much, more grateful to be alive, to have his soulmate with him. Not everyone can say the same.

He should’ve known his luck could only last so long. The room feels big and empty without Minghao there, sharing his space, cuddling close to him in the dark of the night.

-

He’s awoken by the sound of the window sliding open. As much as they’ve tried to fix it, the window frame is sloped in such a way that it can be jimmied open from the outside, and they’ve had to kick out looters more than once. Most of the city folk are doing their best to get along and share their limited resources, but some people get desperate, start trying to take what they need—and no one can afford that. In one swift motion he rolls over to pull his handgun out from under his pillow, aiming it at the intruder.

“Get out.”

The intruder, halfway through the window frame, puts his hands up as best he can whilst trying to balance on the sill. “It’s me!” he says, and Seungkwan jolts, lowering the gun immediately.

“Minghao!” he gasps, dropping the gun on the side and pulling his soulmate through the window. He stumbles a little, falling into Seungkwan, but he readily embraces him in a hug. “I thought you were dead!”

“Surprise,” Minghao says, muffled, clutching onto Seungkwan and propping his chin on his shoulder. “I thought I was dead, too. Thought I’d never see you again.”

He holds him tight, his body flooding with relief, then leans out of the hug to give him a firm kiss on the lips. “Sit on the bed, let me look at you,” he insists, pushing him down and turning to light the candle on the bedside table. “Are you okay? What happened out there? How did you get back in?”

“I climbed up the far side of the border.”

“At night?” he asks, pulling his shirt off to check for injuries. “On your own? How the hell—”

“Listen, Seungkwan,” Minghao says, interrupting him. “You’re not going to like this, but do you promise me you won’t freak out?”

Seungkwan stops moving. “I promise. What is it?”

“You know I’d never put you at risk, right?”

“What are you trying to say?”

Minghao studies him for a second, then puts his hands on Seungkwan’s arms gently. “When I was out with the scouting team, I got bitten.”

Seungkwan takes in a sharp breath of air. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” He brings his wrist up to eye level, and Seungkwan takes a step back, staring at the stark set of teeth marks indented into the skin. “I kept fighting, but I knew it had drawn blood as soon as I saw it. I moved away from the group, further into the hoard, because I thought—if I’m going to die, I should at least make the most of it.”

“No, Hyung,” he starts, dread threatening to eat him whole.

“Hear me out,” Minghao insists. “This was during the raid two weeks ago. I hid out in the buildings beyond the city wall, killing as many infected as I could, trying to do my part while I had the time. A week in, and I hadn’t felt any of the symptoms of turning—none of the sickness or tiredness or urges that are normal in bitten people. I waited another week, and the wound started healing over.” He puts the bite up into Seungkwan’s line of sight again. “Look. It’s old.”

Seungkwan’s eyes flicker from Minghao’s face down to his bite. He runs his fingers over the indents, carefully—he’s right. The wound is scarring over. It seems harmless.

“What—how—”

“Do you remember what Doctor Hyunchul used to say? His theory about infections?”

Seungkwan sits down on the bed, dizzy with the implication. “That we’ll become immune, eventually.”

Minghao nods, joining him on the edge of the mattress. “He was against killing infected—he believed we could learn from them, monitor a change in the infection. The council never listened to him—they don’t want to let bitten people turn, risk bringing more infected into the city. But I think he’s right. What else could explain this?”

Seungkwan’s mind is spinning. He can only take one thing away from the conversation. “So you’re going to be okay?”

Minghao smiles at him, soft affection on his face. “Yeah. I think so.”

He wraps his arms around the other boys’ bare shoulders, bringing him into another hug. “That’s all that matters. I was so scared, Hyung.”

Minghao hugs him back, rubbing at Seungkwan’s back. “I’m sorry for making you wait. I had to make sure it was safe for me to come back—that I wasn’t a threat to you, or the city.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

-

In the morning, Minghao wraps up his wrist in cloth, and they set out to the town hall togheter. The scouting team aren’t set to go out for another few days at least, but he knows he can always find Namjoon in there, doing his best to oversee the safest routes possible. They get a few looks as they walk through the city, double takes from acquaintances who had presumed Minghao dead. It’s nothing compared to the look they get from Namjoon, who stares at him, bug eyed.

“Minghao?” he says, striding over to them as soon as they enter the building. “You’re alive?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I am,” Minghao smiles.

“Come in here,” Namjoon urges, leading them into a little side office and drawing the blinds.

“Hyung?” Seungkwan asks, clutching onto Minghao’s arm. He’s barely let go of him since last night, as if worried he might slip away again. “Is everything okay?”

“How did you get back in here?” Namjoon asks urgently. “Where have you been?”

“There’s enough loose boards on the west side that I could climb up the wall last night. An infected couldn’t do it, but we should fix it as soon as possible, anyway. I’ve been hiding out in the buildings around the city.”

Namjoon nods. “We’ll take a look at that. Are you hurt?”

Minghao shares a look with Seungkwan before pulling away the cloth on his wrist, revealing the bite mark. The speed in which Namjoon has his gun out, aimed at Minghao’s head, sends a thrill of fear through his body.

“Wait!” Seungkwan exclaims, stepping in front of his soulmate. “He’s not a threat! The bite is two weeks old, Hyung!”

Namjoon doesn’t waver his stance. “What are you talking about?”

“I was bitten when I was with the raid group two weeks ago,” Minghao says, steady despite the weapon in his face. “I’ve been hiding out since then, but I haven’t been sick at all. It’s healing over, Hyung.”

“He’s immune,” Seungkwan says, looking down the barrel of the gun. “Please put that down.”

Namjoon lowers the gun, but still clutches it in his hands, as if Minghao might jump up and bite him any second. “There’s no such thing as immunity.”

“Then explain this,” Seungkwan challenges, gesturing to the bite. “You know how long he’s been gone.”

“And you know I wouldn’t come back if I was infected,” Minghao adds.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that in the eyes of the council, there is no such thing as immunity,” Namjoon sighs. “We’ve had these cases before, and they believe it to be a delayed period of turning, not a cure. They’ll shoot you first, and justify it later, saying it’s an extended infection.”

“How can they justify that when we’ve never tested it?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “They’re too scared of being overrun. After what happened in Arizona, they don’t want to take chances.”

“That’s bullshit!” Seungkwan cries. He hasn’t moved from where he’s stood in front of Minghao, stance protective. “He’s alive and healthy! They can’t kill based on fear!”

Namjoon looks at him with the same sympathy he’d had on his face yesterday. “We can afford men. We can’t afford our resources.” Finally, he slides the gun back into his belt, rounding the desk. “But you don’t deserve this. I’m going against the rules here, but if you want to leave the city, I can offer you some supplies to get you going.”

“Leave the city?” he exclaims. “Where would he go? Right into another hoard of infected?”

“You can leave at first light, when the infected will be most docile. Find secure places to sleep at night and avoid areas with hoards. You could make it to Ohio in five or six months.”

“Ohio?” Minghao asks, while Seungkwan splutters. “What’s in Ohio?”

“Rumour has it they’ve managed to preserve a medical centre there. They have a huge building, with doctors, and equipment—they’re running tests on infected, trying to find a cure. If you have something like this to show, they’d probably house in the settlement there.”

“You’re crazy,” Seungkwan says. “You want him to walk to the other side of the country? Based on a rumour? It’s a death sentence.”

“I’ll do it,” Minghao says, and Seungkwan spins to face him.

“You will not.”

“What else can I do?” he says. “They’ll kill me if I stay, and I might live if I go. I have one option here.”

“Stay and hide your bite!”

“You know that won’t last forever,” Namjoon says. He’s already handing a pack of food over to Minghao, as well as a hunting knife, as if it’s already decided, his fate signed and sealed and handed off to the infected that roam outside their city.

“You can’t go out there!” Seungkwan tries again, but he knows the conversation over. Minghao is nothing if not determined, once he’s made up his mind.

“Did anyone see you coming here?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah,” Minghao says. “We walked through the town square.”

“I would say get a night’s rest, but if anyone on the council catches wind that you’re here, you could be dead before the end of the day. Leave as soon as possible; it’s still early enough to avoid hoards.”

Minghao bows to him, grateful. “Thank you, Hyung. I wish you the best.”

“You too, Hao. Really.” Namjoon leaves the room, carefully closing the office door behind him.

Seungkwan turns on his boyfriend immediately. “Are you really doing this?”

“Yes,” he says, tucking the knife into his belt. “It’s my best chance of living, and if I can help find a cure, it’s best for everyone.”

“Fine. Then I’m coming too.”

“No,” Minghao says sharply, looking up at him. “You can’t.”

“I’m only here because of you,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I’m not allowing you to leave again, especially not without me. Where you go, I go.”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“And what about you? If you’re travelling all the way to Ohio, why shouldn’t I?”

“Seungkwannie—”

“It’ll be safer if someone has your back, and you know it. What the hell would I do here, anyway? Just pine over you for the rest of my life.” He grips onto his arm, resting his thumb over the chrysanthemum inside the crook of his elbow. “If I can’t stop you from going, you can’t stop me from coming.”

Minghao stares at him, and Seungkwan looks right back, unmoving. “If you stayed, I would be a lot less stressed.”

“And if I come, you’ll be a lot more protected. One is more important to me than the other.”

“Seungkwan—”

“Minghao,” he interrupts, pulling his sleeve back. “If you fight me on this one more time, I’m going to give myself a bite mark right now so that Namjoon will kick me out too. Then you’ll have to let me come.” He lifts his wrist to his mouth, jamming it between his teeth.

“Hey!” Minghao says, half laughing, pulling Seungkwan’s wrist out of his own mouth. “You’re crazy!”

“No, I’m your soulmate,” he says, steadfast. “I’m in this with you for life, however short that may be. I’m lucky to get to twenty-seven. It’s time to leave the big city and see the world.”

Minghao looks at him, mouth pressed into an exasperated smile. “I don’t think there’s much of the world left to see.”

“But at least I’ll be able to see your face every day,” Seungkwan says, pulling him in by the waist. “That’s the only view I’m looking for.”

They leave through the fire exit of the town hall, taking the backstreets this time. There’s a brief stop off at their home to gather up their necessary belongings and the rations they have left to their name. Namjoon joins them so that Minghao can show him where the breach in the wall is, but thankfully doesn’t make them climb back down the precarious structure. He finds a stable part of the wall and throws a long rope ladder over the edge for them, as is regulation for a scouting crew exit. They’d always lived in the belief that doors are a liability.

“Good luck,” Namjoon says to them before they leave. “If anyone manages to get a fax machine running anytime soon, let us know that you arrived, yeah?”

“Sure, Hyung,” Minghao says, giving him a hug.

“What are you going to tell everyone about us?” Seungkwan asks.

“That you ran away to be together, maybe. Some Romeo and Juliet bullshit, probably,” he shrugs. “I’ll think of something.

“Thank you for giving us all this,” Minghao says, patting his pack. “Others would be less kind.”

Namjoon just smiles. “I really hope you can make it. It’s going to be quieter around here without you two around.” He pulls Seungkwan in for a quick hug too. “Good luck.”

-

The first day of walking isn’t so bad. They encounter a few infected, but they’re all old and slow, growling and shuffling along streets of dilapidated houses; there’s no need to waste ammo when they can be dispatched with a knife to the neck. They find a house that looks secure enough some time before nightfall, but they both agree they’d rather be safe than speedy, and settle down early, closing windows and checking rooms for any unwanted dead. The place is bare, completely looted, but mostly undamaged.

The night is worse. The infected become more active then; relying on smell and hearing rather than sight gives them a dangerous advantage in the pitch black of night. The freshly infected young ones know to move in packs, and the sound they make is awful—moans and the groan of feet dragging along some road that’s too close for comfort. All they can do is huddle in the corner of a room together, sharing their one blanket and hoping the hoard don’t catch their scent. It’s one thing to secure the house against infected; it’s another to barricade themselves against a stampede.

The supplies run out a week later, and their speed slows considerably when they have to start ransacking houses for tins or anything edible. Water, too, is a precious good that they ration delicately between each successful loot. By the time they cross the border into Nevada, he’s grateful for the changing seasons—he can’t imagine doing this walk in the unbearable heat of summer.

“Look,” he says, pointing to a sign ahead of them. “If we stay on this interstate, we’ll walk right into a city. We should branch off soon.”

“I was thinking we should try and go into one, actually,” Minghao says carefully, like he’s been working up to saying it.

“Why? There’s bound to be loads of walkers.”

“We don’t know that. Surely they’ll have moved out over the years? If nobody lives there anymore, there’s no reason for them to congregate somewhere dead.”

“There’s still people wandering around without settlements. They go to dead cities for loot.”

“Which is what we should do. There’s bound to be cars there that still have gas in them, and it would speed things up considerably.”

“You want a car? What happened to safety over speed?” Seungkwan frowns. “I don’t like this.”

“A car would mean long-term safety for short-term risk. Less walking means we need to eat and drink less—we’ll arrive there quicker, and we can drive straight through unsafe neighbourhoods rather than creeping around them. As long as we move carefully and avoid any hoards, a city probably won’t be any worse than the suburbs we’ve been walking through.”

Seungkwan chews on his lip. “All this for a car?”

“And maybe another blanket? More clothes, if we can find them. It’s only going to get colder from now.”

An autumn breeze rustles their hair at that moment, as if to prove his point. He sighs, moving closer to latch onto Minghao’s hand. “Let’s go to the edge of the city and see what it looks like. We’ll have to be so careful, Hao.”

Reno looks like it might have been beautiful, once. They can see the remnants of a Vegas-style welcome sign as they enter, casinos and hotels and parking lots rising up on the skyline. It’s quiet, like everywhere else, but in such a densely built place, he finds the lack of noise unnerving. Like they’re waiting for something to happen.

“Come on,” Minghao urges, pulling him towards the nearest parking lot.

“Wait,” Seungkwan urges. “We won’t find anything there. If we’re looking for cars with keys still in them, they’ll be in the streets. Cars in parking lots were probably there before the infection broke out.”

Minghao looks twitchy. Seungkwan wonders if he’s regretting his own plan. “Yeah, you have a point. Okay, let’s start checking.”

He thinks they’re on a fool’s mission. Surely nothing left here will be useful; it’s been too long since the infection broke out. Bandits and travellers have been wandering around for years, looking for cars and blankets and clothes and just like them. He can’t stop looking over his shoulder, ears strained for noise as they go between the cars parked and left in the roads. So far there’s only some singular infected shuffling about, easy to kill before they can do damage. They move further into the city, trying car doors as they go. Most are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have keys in them.

“Look,” Minghao calls to him, careful not to be too loud. “There was a hotel key in the glove compartment. If we find their room, we might be able to find their car key.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “What hotel?”

“The Hampton Inn, room 207.”

“We passed that earlier. It’s the fancy building back there.”

They head back towards the hotel. The front door is broken in, the lobby looted bare, the ground floor rooms with doors hanging from their hinges or missing completely.

“I have a feeling this might be a bust,” he remarks, unhelpfully.

“Let’s try anyway,” Minghao insists, leading the way up the stairs.

Room 207 is in a similar state—they’re lucky that the door is there at all. Inside, everything is trashed, with shattered glass on the floor and the wreckage of what was once a desk laid about at their feet. There are torn pillows, chewed apart by something living or dead, and the hotel duvet growing mould in the corner. Minghao continues his way into the room as Seungkwan looks around, hesitant.

“Hao, I think we should get out of the city. I don’t like being here. I feel like we’re just waiting to encounter a hoard at any moment.”

Minghao sighs and lowers his head where he’s crouched shifting through the rubble. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. We’ll go out the way we came in and go around.”

“Thank you.” A little relief settles in his stomach, his instincts straining to get out of here. Minghao stands up and kicks at one of the broken boards, defeated.

Something underneath it catches his eye. He ducks down to pick it up, dusting it off to reveal something stained and silver.

“You’re kidding,” Minghao says, staring at the key in his hand.

“Ha!” Seungkwan says. “Shit, maybe you were right about this.”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, already halfway through the doorway. Seungkwan follows him out and down the hotel stairs, back into the empty expanse of the city. Minghao starts up a light jog towards the car, excited at the prospect of a win. Seungkwan rounds the side of the car, Minghao at his shoulder, puts the key in the ignition, and turns.

The car engine lets out an awful roar that seems to echo down the street, dust and grime billowing out of the exhaust pipe.

“Shit!” he says, wrenching the key out again.

“Damage is already done,” Minghao says, pointing ahead of them. A freshly turned infected is running towards them at full speed, it’s hoarse wailing and stomping feet bringing others out of the woodwork without warning. From the next street over, infected are turning corners in two’s and threes, older walkers shuffling out of the stores up and down the road. The noise of the engine had acted as a beacon in this dead town: the living are here. “Time to go!”

Seungkwan shoves the key at Minghao and runs around to the passenger seat. He jumps inside just in time, as Minghao starts driving before his door is even shut, slamming into the infected runner that hurtles straight into the front of their car. The engine noise becomes a lower rumble once it gets going, not that it matters now; Minghao is driving as fast as possible in between the other vehicles abandoned on the road, infected banging at windows and growling at them as they plough through them in numbers.

“Watch out!” he yells, pointing ahead of them. The road is almost completely blocked by cars up ahead—to continue towards them at this speed risks crashing. Without warning, Minghao swerves a corner into a different road, straight into more infected. “Please don’t get us killed!”

“Doing my best!” Minghao shouts back, swerving again to put them on the main road out of the city. They go through another crowd of infected, stumbling their way towards the disruptive noise—every one they hit covers the window screen in blood or grime or dirt, making it harder to see. Thankfully, they’re ploughing through last bunch before they’re soaring out of the city and onto a long road, driving straight down the middle to avoid abandoned cars. Minghao slows a little, now that they’ve started leaving infected behind.

“Ha!” Seungkwan shouts, not sure if it’s relieved or terrified. “We did it!”

“Holy shit! We did!”

“I don’t know if that went terribly or perfectly.”

“Both. Let’s say it was both.”

-

They pick up a siphon some days later and start taking gas out of other cars to fuel their own. It means they can park and leave the heating on all night during the winter months, sleeping curled up on the backseat, which probably saves them from freezing to death during the snowy days. To avoid the attention of infected, they don’t often drive too fast, but a car still makes the journey easier. They arrive in Missouri by the time winter starts to subside, and it’s there they meet trouble. Seungkwan is awoken from his nap by a loud bang, and the jolt of the car swerving out of Minghao’s control. They usually don’t bother with seatbelts, so he whacks his head on the dashboard in front of him as they come to a stop.

“Ah, shit!” he says, clutching at the side of his head.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Minghao asks, a little breathless.

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “What the hell happened?”

“Maybe we hit something,” Minghao mutters, stepping out of the car. Seungkwan blinks the coloured spots out of his vision and makes his way out of the car too, one hand on the frame for balance. The cause of their crash isn’t hard to spot—the arrow in their tyre sticks out at the side of the wheel, proud and cruel.

“Hyung?” he calls, going to wrench it out of the tyre. Minghao rounds the car and looks at the arrow in Seungkwan’s hand, wide-eyed.

“Bandits,” he says, right before another arrow whizzes by them, wedging in the car door an inch in front of Seungkwan’s face. They both stumble back, and look over to where a group of six or seven men are running down the slope by the road. They’re all carrying guns or knives—the one with a bow is notching another arrow, aiming at them.

“Run!” Seungkwan yells, grabbing his bag as he passes his car door and rounds the car. He follows after Minghao, ducking down the next street.

“Leave the bag!” Minghao yells as they sprint between houses, their head start the only reason they’re alive. “Or they’ll keep pursuing us!”

“We need it!” he protests. It’s still cold out, and without their car they’ll need their other supplies to survive the rest of winter. He doesn’t think he could let go of the bag if he wanted to; the thought of freezing to death out here, so close to their destination, propels him on, holding fast to the bag.

The men are big and fast and clearly adjusted to surviving out here by stealing, undeterred by their attempt to flee. The two of them run hard, down another street, dodging the slow infected shuffling around, attention peaked at the noise of the men yelling. He can’t remember the last time he moved this fast; his blood is pumping in his ears so loud that he almost doesn’t hear the sound of rushing water beside them until they’re right there, running alongside a reservoir.

“It’s a dead end!” Minghao calls from ahead of him. A second later, Seungkwan understands; in front of them is only a ledge that rounds off. They’re cornered. The men behind them jeer and shout.

“You’re dead meat!”

Minghao ignores him. “We have to jump!”

“What?” he shouts, but he’s not seeing any other alternative as they approach the water. The water ahead of them is moving quickly—hopefully they won’t be seen in the rush, won’t be shot at from above. It can’t end here.

“Trust me!” is the last thing Minghao says before launching himself from the ledge, down at least thirty metres into the water. Seungkwan doesn’t even falter as he follows him, jumping from the ledge and into the water below, rucksack and all.

He hits the water hard. It’s cold, a freezing cold that paralyses him for a few moments, disoriented by the plunge. In the dim evening light filtering though the water it’s hard to tell which way is up and which way is down, further into the depths. He can’t see anything—the water is murky and moving fast, and he can feel himself being tugged along with the rush of the flow. He needs to come up to the top, to breathe, to find Minghao, but he’s being tossed every way, can’t tell if he needs to fight it or let it carry him to the surface. His lungs burn as he longs to take a breath—bubbles escape from his mouth, clouding his vision more. There’s water everywhere he turns. He can’t stop the one thought rattling around his brain; _I don’t want to die like this._

Finally, something pulls at his arm. He lets it hoist him up, barely aware enough to consider fighting back—and emerges from the water spluttering and choking, water in his ears and eyes and nose. The hand grips onto him as the water pulls them further downriver, but at least he’s afloat, attempting to force his lungs into taking in air. When he manages to get a glimpse of his companion, he spots Minghao’s dirty, water heavy orange hoodie, and thinks he could cry.

“We should try and make it to that patch of trees!” Minghao shouts over the sound of the water. “If they’re still following us, it’s good cover!”

Seungkwan can only nod and cough a little more, letting Minghao support him as they swim against the water, over to the bank. He does his best to tread the water, but when they reach the bank and Minghao lets go of him to hoist himself up, he realises how much stronger a swimmer he is. It’s all he can do to cling to the side and wait for Minghao to help him out, muscles rebelliously uncooperative. The two of them drag themselves further into the trees, flopping down on the hard ground, dripping and shivering.

They lay there for a minute, Seungkwan trying to regain his breath whilst shaking water out of his ears and coughing the ache out his lungs.

“I told you to drop the bag,” Minghao huffs eventually. Seungkwan sits up instantly, looking around them, but he already knows it’s useless; he must’ve dropped the bag on impact with the water. All their supplies, food, tools, gone—all they have is their water-logged clothes, dirty and freezing.

“Fuck!” he says, emphatically. The chill of the evening is settling under his skin as they take stock: he has his gun, tucked into his waistband, and a packet of soggy crackers left in his pocket. Minghao has his hunting knife, somehow still secure in his belt, and the soaked map of Missouri they’d picked up earlier in the day.

So, in other words, nothing.

“We should find shelter before it gets any darker,” Minghao says through chattering teeth, pushing himself to his feet.

Seungkwan takes a few steps after him through the trees, skin numb and hearing still muffled with water. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I have no idea. But we can’t stay here.”

“Moving around will bring attention to us. Shouldn’t we stop here if we don’t know there’s safety ahead?”

“We’ve still got another half an hour of light—if we can make it out of the trees, we could find a roof over our heads.”

“And how good will that be?” Seungkwan says, stopping in his path. “What are the chances we find somewhere that’s at all secure?”

Minghao turns around to face him. He’s clutching himself in an attempt to fight off the chill. “I don’t know! But we can’t stay here!”

“We should hide in the trees and take these clothes off before we freeze to death—it’s better than making it to a suburban area without any proper defence! We’re bound to find infected!”

“You’d rather stay in the woods? How is this any better?”

“There’s nothing out here! Infected look for life in populated areas—we might be okay for the night!”

“That’s a very big might!”

“Are you guys okay?” The interjection of a third voice snaps them both out of their argument, and they round on the sound instantly, weapons up.

“Who are you?” Minghao says, edging closer to Seungkwan, blade pointed at the man standing in the shadows.

“Woah,” he says, putting his hands up behind his head. “No harm meant—you just seem to be in a tight spot.”

Seungkwan keeps his gun raised, clutched in both hands. “Were you with them?” He doesn’t think so—the bandits seemed so big and fast, but this guy is lean, kind-faced—but he can’t help but feel paranoid. They’ve barely encountered anyone in four months of travelling across the country, and he’s having a hard time adjusting to meeting strangers twice in one evening.

“With who?”

“We just had all our shit taken by bandits. Nearly drowned in the reservoir to escape,” he explains, arms heavy as he lowers his gun a little. He doesn’t think this guy means harm, and his bones feel weighted by the exhaustion.

“Jesus,” the guy says. “I know who you mean—we’ve had problems with them before. I’m from a settlement a mile that way—” he points further into the trees, where the sunlight is dying beyond the horizon, “if you guys want to come and spend the night. We can feed you and supply you with some stuff to send you on your way, maybe.” He shrugs. “Up to you.”

“Yes,” Seungkwan says. “Please, God, that would be amazing.”

Minghao stays quiet next to him. He’s still gripping onto his knife, the two of them share a look. He knows they can’t bring their guard down, but the offer of a meal is too good to pass up. Minghao looks cautious, they both know this is a better option than either of their previous ideas.

“Okay,” he says warily, sheathing his knife. “We’d be grateful for some food, if you could spare us some.”

“Of course,” the man smiles, stepping forwards to shake their hands. “I’m Johnny.”

“I’m Seungkwan, this is Minghao.”

“Glad to meet you. Do you guys feel up to jogging? It might help you warm up a little, and the sun is going down fast.”

It doesn’t take them long to get to the settlement, and even from the outside, Seungkwan is in love with the place. It’s a collection of farmhouses guarded by a high fence, a soft glow of light coming out of the big barn. Johnny leads them to a house first, finds them towels and clothes to change into, hanging the wet ones up before leading them into the barn.

The scene in there almost overwhelms him. It’s not a big settlement, maybe thirty or fourty people at most, but they have a camaraderie he can sense as soon as they walk through the doors. They must be celebrating something, as the place is set out with tables and candles, with a space in the middle where couples and kids are dancing together to cheerful guitar music. A few of them turn around when Johnny comes in, greeting him and peering curiously at their visitors.

“Jaemin!” Johnny calls across the room.

“You’re finally back!” Jaemin responds, already fishing some meat out of a pot and plating it up. “We were getting worried, Johnny!”

He takes the plate thankfully. “I had a pretty empty loot, then stopped off on the way back to pick up these guys. If we have any leftovers, they’re in need.”

Jaemin eyes their dripping hair, but pulls out another plate without question. “You boys been for a swim?”

“Something like that,” Seungkwan responds, looking at the plate in Johnny’s hand—there’s pieces of meat, but there’s also some actual vegetables and potatoes. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper, hot meal, and he’s trying not to salivate at the sight. “Are you guys self-sufficient? Your place here is amazing!”

“Yeah, we have a bunch of fields behind here. Infected don’t care about stuff like that—as long as we protect the farmhouses well and keep a look out for bandits, we can grow food pretty reliably,” Johnny says.

Jaemin hands Seungkwan his plate of food, and starts dishing up the last of it for Minghao. “You’re lucky I did extra. There’s just enough, I think.”

“Thank you so much,” Seungkwan says, goggling at his plate. “You don’t know how hungry I am.”

“Then you’d better sit down and eat,” Johnny says. Minghao quietly thanks Jaemin for his own plate and they follow after Johnny to an empty table.

They settle down to eat in mutual silence, scarfing down the food. Seungkwan feels warmed from the inside after the first bite, savouring the taste of hot food. He doesn’t often feel the sensation of being full, so when he finishes and sits back, sated, it’s a pleasant novelty. Johnny doesn’t stick around for much longer after that, dragged away to dance by a little girl who looks up at him with stars in her eyes. He promises to be back to show them to a room, if they want to stay the night.

“Are we really doing this?” Minghao says, resting his elbows on the table in front of him.

“Why not?” Seungkwan asks, doing the same so that they can talk in low voices, heads close.

“Because we don’t know these people? Because they could be luring us in to kill us in our sleep and eat us?”

“Hyung, I know it’s the apocalypse, but not everything wants to eat us. They fed us—isn’t that counter intuitive if they just want to eat us anyway?”

“Still.” Minghao looks uncomfortable. “They could kill us in our sleep.”

“To do what? We have nothing to take. We can sleep in shifts if you like, to look out for each other, then leave in the morning. They haven’t taken our weapons—Johnny even gave us some of his clothes.” He scoots his chair closer to Minghao’s. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I think these might be… good people?”

Minghao eyes him for a minute. “Good people? In the apocalypse?”

“Yeah. We’re a rare breed, I know.”

“Who ever said you were one of them?”

Seungkwan hits him playfully. “I’m the best person you know, don’t deny it.”

He smiles at that. “Maybe you are.”

“You know what they say—it takes one to know one.” He looks around at the kids, happy and playful, the older couples, dancing together. “We should stay.”

“There’s a guy on the opposite table watching us like we’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, because we’re strangers in their settlement talking to each other in whispers. They’ve shown us kindness, so let’s show them some trust.”

Minghao nods. “Okay. As long as we look out for each other, we’ll be okay, right?”

He reaches up to pat down some of Minghao’s hair, sticking up at the back of his head. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you ever since we left California.”

“Hey guys,” Johnny says, appearing out of nowhere and startling them for a second time.

“Man, you’ve got to stop doing that,” Seungkwan says, holding a hand over his racing heart.

“Sorry,” he laughs, sitting opposite them along with another guy. “I’ve come to introduce you to Taeyong. He’s our leader around here.”

“Hi,” Taeyong says kindly, shaking their hands. “Is it okay if I ask you a few questions before we show you guys to a room?”

“Of course,” Minghao says, sitting up a little straighter.

“Where are you guys from?”

“The Sacramento settlement. We left nearly four months ago.”

Taeyong and Johnny exchange a look at that. “Why leave? Isn’t that settlement huge, and successful?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan scoffs. “And strict. We had to leave or be executed.”

“Really?” Taeyong leans forwards, intrigued. “What did you do?”

He and Minghao exchange looks. Minghao had ditched the cloth on his wrist months ago, so it’s not exactly a well-kept secret. Still, Seungkwan’s heart is in his throat when Minghao presents his wrist to the other men. They have nowhere to go if they get kicked out for this. “I was bitten. It’s harmless, but the people in charge were paranoid over a delayed turn, of the infection spreading through me. We’ve been trying to make it to Ohio ever since; word is there’s a medical team there, working on a cure.”

Taeyong sits back, relaxed in the face of the bite, and Johnny starts rolling up the sleeve of his shirt.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Taeyong says, shrugging off his jacket to reveal a bite mark on his shoulder, presenting in beside Johnny’s, on his forearm. Both of them look like Minghao’s, healed over time, leaving only the scars of bite marks.

“You guys too?” Minghao asks, wide eyed.

Taeyong nods. “Everyone here comes from a settlement in Iowa. There was a disaster one day—a hoard got in, a lot of us were bitten. Once it was all under control, those of us who were bitten were exiled.”

Johnny looks down grimly. “That was a crazy few days. Half of us turned, but the rest of us found ourselves alive, and healing. We travelled south and set up our own settlement. It was difficult, for a long time, but we’ve managed. This will be our fourth year here. Nearly everyone in this room has a bite like that.”

Taeyong smiles wryly. “We call ourselves the disinfected.”

“Woah,” Minghao says, sitting back.

“Do you have one?” Taeyong asks Seungkwan, who shakes his head.

“I’m just here because of him,” he says, flattening out his arm to show off the hydrangea mark. Minghao does the same with his chrysanthemum, smiling down at it.

Taeyong nods at them. “We don’t often see soulmate marks these days. I trust you guys. We can set you to work on the farm, if you’d like to stay with us.”

“Permanently?” Seungkwan asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, standing up with all the easy grace of a man who’s used to dealing out life-changing decisions like these. “Why not? You’re one of us.”

They’re sharing a room with Johnny and some guy called Mark, but the two of them fall asleep quickly, leaving Minghao and Seungkwan to whisper to each other on their bed roll. Their heads are close, and he can feel Minghao’s warm breath puffing gently against his neck.

“I really want to stay,” he admits. “That was the first proper meal we’ve had in forever, and they seem so nice. I think we’ve stumbled on a really great thing here.”

“But what about Ohio?” he asks, unsure.

“Ohio might not even exist. We’ve been headed towards a rumour, after all. This is real. This is safety—it’s what we’ve been looking for all this time.” He shuffles closer to Minghao on the bed, wrapping his arms around him. The chill has gone now, and the four bodies in the room make it comfortably warm. With some luck, neither of them will get sick.

“But if I could help people…”

“You heard Taeyong, though. People are becoming immune naturally. In a few decades, the whole population will be the same; it’s not just you who can provide the answer. You don’t need to save the world, Minghao. As long as you’re alive, you’re doing the most.”

Minghao nods, pressing a kiss to Seungkwan’s forehead. “Yeah. I would rather know you were here and safe, than out there, walking across another three states.”

“Then let’s stay,” Seungkwan urges, rubbing his hand across Minghao’s back gently. “Even if only for a little while. See how we go here.”

“Okay,” Minghao agrees, nestling one hand at the back of Seungkwan’s head. “If it’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“You’ve followed me all the way from California. I think it’s time for me to follow your lead, now, right?”

Seungkwan smiles. “I think so too. My first order as leader is: for you to get some sleep.”

Minghao giggles, a lesser heard sound in recent months. It makes him smile. “Okay. Goodnight, leader.”

“Goodnight, Hyung.” He gives another quick kiss to his hair, and settles down under their blanket, safe and warm in Minghao’s hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hydrangeas: perseverance
> 
> au inspired by the last of us


	6. KMG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): alcohol consumption, mention of murder & conditioning

The knock on the door is firm and loud, ringing around his workstation and skewing his focus. He stands up straight, leaving the android compartment open to go and answer the door.

“Yes?” he says when he pulls open the door. A man is standing there, tall and handsome and totally out of place in his dingy work building.

“My name is Kim Mingyu—you agreed to take me on for the apprenticeship?”

“Oh! Kim Mingyu! I’m going to be honest, I forgot you were coming.”

The man falters in his bright smile. “Should I come back another day, or…”

“Nah, come on in! Don’t mind the mess.” He stands aside to make way for Mingyu. The door leads straight into his workshop, with an office room further in the back. “No android?” he asks, surprised when Mingyu enters unaccompanied.

“I thought I should leave him at home,” Mingyu says. “Don’t want to get him mixed up with any of your work here.”

Seungkwan nods. “Good decision. I don’t own one, but if I did, I wouldn’t bring it here.”

“You don’t own an android?” Mingyu asks in surprise, hovering awkwardly further in the room as Seungkwan shuts the door behind him.

“No, I find it better not to mix my work with my life.”

“But how do you stay connected?”

Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows and goes back over to the android lying on his desk, picking up his screwdriver again. “I have a phone.”

Mingyu’s face is one of delighted surprise. “You mean they still make those?”

“Yup. Great things. You can put them down when you don’t to be connected, you know.”

“What would you be doing if you didn’t need to be connected?”

“You’d be surprised. Come around here and watch me finish up, apprentice. You can tell me what you know about androids in the meantime.”

“Right, yeah,” Mingyu says, picking his way around the boxes of replacement circuits and spare parts littered around the workshop to come and stand next to him.

“Not there, you’re blocking my light,” he says, taking the delicate screwdriver to the corner of the circuit he was fixing back into place.

“Sorry,” Mingyu says, stepping back to watch over his shoulder.

“So, tell me—what do you know?”

“I know androids are the most advanced piece of technology the public has available to them right now. They’re used for any aspect of daily life—to do any errand their owner sends them on.”

“You’re correct, but I was thinking more about the technical aspect than the obvious.” He picks up the circuit casing with tweezers, easing it back on.

“Oh. Right. Well—androids are designed to look like humans, but they must have an unnatural feature to signify their species. Oddly coloured eyes usually. It’s obligated by law—to avoid people using androids for illegal reasons, or to avoid any confusion in professional settings.”

“Good. Do you know any more about android law?”

“You’re not allowed to register an android as a citizen. You can’t marry them, and they need to have android passes for international travel.”

“How about this?” he gestures to the open panel in front of him. Done with the circuit, he presses the panel back into place, and it smoothly disappears into the android’s plastic skin. “Do you know what it is?”

Mingyu blinks a few times. “It’s an access panel, right? You can open them up anywhere on the body, if needed, as long as you have an access tool.”

“Correct! I had to do this all over the android—the circuits were fried, she needed almost a complete replacement. Let’s see if I’ve done a good job, shall we?” He reaches behind the android’s ear, searching for her power button.

There’s a soft whirring as she comes to life. She’s an older model, less streamlined, but he sees that a lot with older customers—they hold onto the models from their childhood, out of nostalgia. The repair job for an old model often costs more than getting a replacement, but androids can become members of the family, for some people, and thus worth the cost.

She pushes herself up off the desk, hopping down to stand on the other side. Her eyes glow orange, and after a second, she smiles. “Have I been repaired?”

“I believe you have, Jihyo!” he says. “Could you show me your interface? Let’s confirm everything is running smoothly.”

Her smile sticks on her face as the interface hologram pops up in front of her. He scrolls through it quickly, flicking his eyes from side to side to swipe through her various systems.

“All seems good to me! Do you feel okay?”

“Never better!” she chirps.

“Brilliant. If you can transfer me your payment, you’re free to go.”

“I’ll do just that!” she says, perfectly still as she searches through her functions. A few seconds later, she turns stiffly to look at Seungkwan. “Payment transferred!”

“Thank you, Jihyo,” he says. “Please send me a confirmation when you arrive back home.”

“Of course!” she says, bowing. “Thank you for your treatment!”

“Anytime,” he smiles, waving to her as she turns and walks primly from the room, stepping over the boxes on the floor without looking down at them.

“How long have you been working on her?” Mingyu asks once she’s left the room.

“The past three or four days? It was a big job, but it’s been a slow week, so I’ve been able to focus on her. It’s a good thing that family have another android to help run their household, or they’d be stuck.”

“Do you have other work backed up?”

He shakes his head. “Most jobs aren’t as big as that. I just remove bugs from software if they’re acting out, give them a general reboot if their speech pattern is stuck, things like that. I take work as it comes. We’ve got nothing else to work on at the minute.”

“Then what do you usually do during free time?”

“Sort out the spare parts—clean up, organise files, answer communication. But now I have you.” He leans against his work desk, crossing his arms. “So, tell me—why did you take up this apprenticeship?”

Mingyu shrugs. “I wanted to learn more about androids. Hands-on application seems to be the best way.”

“You’d be right. No quicker way of learning. Which is why I’m going to teach you about android anatomy. Sit down, Mingyu.”

-

Mingyu is a fast learner, and within a few weeks, Seungkwan trusts him with some basic repairs. He executes them all flawlessly on his first tries, which makes him a little jealous—he’s hot, intelligent, _and_ skilful, which must be some sort of violation of Seungkwan’s rights. On top of that, he takes a lot of interest in software work, even though he’s only allowed to watch. Seungkwan has two different qualifications that allow him to work with android software, but Mingyu is inquisitive, often asking how he can recognise mistakes in the code. Seungkwan digs out one of his old textbooks that Mingyu pores over every break, and within weeks, he’s keeping up with Seungkwan’s alterations and basic code repairs.

“Why didn’t you ever go to school for this?” he asks one day, watching Mingyu rewire an elbow joint carefully.

“Sorry?” he murmurs, staying focused on reattaching the wire.

“You’ve picked up everything so quickly—not only the physical stuff, but the complicated software parts of androids too. You’re way too smart for an apprenticeship like this.”

Mingyu finishes attaching the wire and stands up straight, placing the tweezers down gently. “I suppose you could say I come from an…unconventional home. I didn’t have the opportunity for things like that. Besides—I enjoy it here, with you. Why would I want to go through the longer route when you can teach me everything I need?”

“You’ve taught yourself half of it,” he says, though he blushes under the praise. “With my books, and out of observation. Don’t give me all the credit.”

“You’re a great teacher though, Seungkwan,” Mingyu smiles, canines poking out of his mouth like a pleased puppy. “You’re really clever.”

A smile creeps onto his face against his will, and the compliment gives him a rush of confidence. Better now than never. “Thanks! You know, we should go for a drink sometime. Get to know each other outside of work. Are you free after closing today?”

He nods quickly. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Great. Let’s grab dinner together, yeah?”

Mingyu looks down, trying to hide a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

A few hours and a couple of drinks later, Mingyu brings the conversation around to the inevitable. Everyone gets curious about it sometime.

“What’s the real reason you don’t have an android?” he says, pushing another drink across to Seungkwan between all their empty plates. He seems barely buzzed, but enjoying himself nonetheless. “The ‘work and life’ thing isn’t a real answer. Doctors still have families; vets still have pets. So what is it?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Why does everyone think it’s so weird?”

“Because it is weird! Androids are an essential in modern society! It’s how everything is processed; how connections are made, the main way people stay in touch.”

“But I’m doing just fine without one,” he says, putting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “You’ve been doing fine without bringing yours to work all these days. It’s the same concept—it’s not as crazy as you’d think.”

“You’re just making things harder for yourself.”

“I’m a pretty stubborn person.”

“I can see that,” Mingyu challenges, raising his eyebrows.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes again, and gives in. “Fine. I think it’s unnerving, okay? I considered getting one of the dog models, but they still talk, and that’s even weirder. I just don’t like the idea of it. They’re too close to human.”

“Are you one of those people who think androids are going to rise up and take over the world?”

“No. Not really. I’m just scared of how far people will go with this sort of technology. It’s inevitable humans will do something bad with it. They already are—illegal android modifications are becoming more and more available.”

Mingyu nods, without an argument against that. “That’s fair. Humans are the scariest thing, after all.”

“Agreed.”

“If you find them unnerving, why work with them?”

“Because they’re also fascinating. When I started studying them in school, everyone thought I was going to go into droid manufacturing, but I’m way more interested in how they’re imperfect, in how long they can last. And I like helping people. I’m happy in this job.”

“As long as you’re happy, I suppose.”

“That’s the important thing,” he agrees. “Do you think you’re happy, Kim Mingyu?”

Mingyu takes his drink into his hand, considering the question carefully. “I wasn’t, for a long time,” he says, playing with the label on his bottle. “But now I think I am. I’m still getting used to the feeling.”

Seungkwan clinks their bottles together. “Cheers to that. You deserve to be happy.”

Mingyu’s smile is soft under the dim restaurant lights. “Thank you.”

-

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, flopping onto Hyungwon’s sofa.

“About your lover boy?”

“He’s not my lover boy,” Seungkwan whines. “That’s the problem.”

“Then make him your lover boy,” Hyungwon suggests. “Kihyun, could you get us some drinks?”

“Of course!” Kihyun fixes his purple eyes to Hyungwon, recognising the command before walking from the room.

“It’s not as simple as that! He’s my student! It’s immoral!”

“He’s your apprentice,” Hyungwon corrects. “And didn’t you say he’s a year older than you?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan snorts. “It was awkward at first. I wasn’t sure what to call him.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m still his boss. I can’t make a move.”

“You’ve been going out together for weeks. You already did make a move.”

“Shut up, they’re work meals.”

“Really?” Hyungwon asks, looking at Seungkwan, deadpan.

“We haven’t actually done anything,” he retorts. “And he won’t be around much longer. It was only a six-month thing—he’ll be finished in a couple of weeks.”

Hyungwon scoffs. “So what are you complaining about, exactly? You won’t be his boss anymore—there’s no conflict of interest. Take him back home on his last day.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, considering. “Do you think he’ll still want to see me once we’re done?” Kihyun comes back through with their drinks, handing them over. He’s done Seungkwan his americano, just how he likes it. “Thanks, Kihyunnie.”

“If he didn’t, I don’t think you’d be here, moping over him.”

“I’m not moping!”

“Sure.”

-

“How are you feeling about your last day?” he asks, scrolling through lines of code on the buggy android.

“I wish it wasn’t leaving,” Mingyu pouts, tweezers in hand as he works at a hinge joint. “Now I need to find something else to fill my time.”

“Do you feel like you’ve learned a lot?”

“Of course! You’ve taught me so much!”

He smiles, going a little pink. Praise from Mingyu makes him blush like nothing else. It’s annoying. “Good! Now you’ll be able to help your friends out with their androids, right? As long as you don’t take all my business.” He spins in his chair to send Mingyu a wink.

“I don’t have many friends,” Mingyu says softly, fixing the access panel back into place. “So I’ll just be helping myself, I suppose.”

“A guy like you? Not many friends?” Seungkwan says, surprised. “Who could dislike you, Mingyu?”

Mingyu lifts his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I like you,” Seungkwan says, trying to fight down the rush of embarrassment at being so candid.

“You do?”

“Of course.”

Mingyu stands, making his way over to Seungkwan’s desk and perching against it. “Seungkwan—I, uh…” he trails off, and Seungkwan watches him patiently, waiting for him to find his words. “I haven’t had many meaningful relationships in my life. But I’ve had a really good time working here, with you. You’re so kind, and funny, and—I really like you too. I hope we can continue to see each other after today.”

Seungkwan smiles, the corners of his eyes turning up. He puts a hand over Mingyu’s on the desk. “Mingyu, I would love that. You’re welcome around here anytime. Do you want to do something tomorrow? We could go shopping, or something?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor with a pleased look on his face. “I’d really like that.”

-

It seems that Mingyu has never seen Back to the Future before, if the way he’s gasping at every scene is any indication. They’d gone into the tiny independent cinema on whim, after buying everything they’d needed, but not wanting to leave the mall so early. Back to the Future is a classic, but apparently has flown right under Mingyu’s radar. He finds himself more caught up in his reactions than the movie; his wide eyes and open mouth, one hand clutching their popcorn, is far more engrossing to watch.

“You’ve never seen that before, right?” he asks through a laugh as they leave the cinema. It’s fallen dark while they’ve been inside, and the streets are cool with night air.

“I’ve never been to a cinema,” Mingyu admits, then turns pink at the confession, as surprised as Seungkwan.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Then we’ll have to catch you up on the experience. Same time next week?”

Mingyu beams. “Yes please. Can we see that movie again?”

“I’m sure there’s other screenings you’ll like just as much,” he says. “We’ll take a look at the listings.”

He nods, pleased. “Seungkwannie…”

“Yes?”

Mingyu envelops his hand in his own, clutching onto it, a little shy. Seungkwan’s heart aches at how quietly affectionate he is, as if he’s never been out like this before, with another boy. Or even a friend. “I really enjoyed today. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“It’s no problem,” he says gently, walking them to Mingyu’s car. “I’m glad you’ve had fun.”

Mingyu nods eagerly. “I really did. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ve got to go home, silly,” he teases.

“No you don’t,” Mingyu says. They’ve reached his car, but rather than walking around to the driver’s seat, he crowds Seungkwan up against the passenger door and cups his face in his hands. A thumb presses gently into each of his cheeks. “You could come back with me.”

“Do you want that?” Seungkwan asks, placing his hands on Mingyu’s waist to encourage him.

“Yes,” Mingyu says, leaning down to press his lips against Seungkwan’s. He’s warm, and soft, and Seungkwan puts one hand in his hair, pulling him close, tilting his head. Mingyu is gentle, like he is with everything, and Seungkwan feels like he could just melt into it, could stay here forever, kissing him again and again.

“Then let’s go,” he says, when they finally break away. Mingyu beams at him, hands smoothing down Seungkwan’s face to his shoulders, patting him gently before he moves away to get into the driver’s seat.

-

“So my plan worked, basically?” Hyungwon boasts.

“We didn’t fuck on his last day,” he disagrees, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose.

“No, just the day after.” Hyungwon picks up his iced coffee and sips at it, satisfied.

“We’ve had unresolved sexual tension for months, okay? It was about time.”

His Hyung puts his hands in the air. “Hey, I’m not judging! I’m happy for you! You deserve this one.”

Seungkwan settles back into his chair, the cold metal a stark contrast to the hot sun beating down on them. “Good! I know I do. Not sure how I snagged him though. You should see him—build like a God, I swear.”

Hyungwon gestures at him with his cup. “I was going to ask about that. When do I get to meet him?”

Seungkwan brings his own strawberry lemonade to his mouth, sipping thoughtfully. “I’ll try and work him up to it. He’s a bit funny with speaking to new people—I think he’s anxious, you know?”

“Interesting. Maybe he’s not as hot as you claim.”

“Oh, he is. Hot people can have anxiety problems, you know. I think there’s some stuff going on with him—he always dodges around certain topics. Family and home and his school life, and stuff. There’s some unresolved issues.”

“You do love finding people to fix.”

“Hey! I fix androids, not people!”

Hyungwon shrugs. “Feels like you can’t separate work from life, is all. Unless you need to talk about your own problems; you come to me for that.”

Seungkwan shoots him a look and puts his drink down on the table. “It’s not that Mingyu needs fixing—it’s that he’s a mystery. His apartment is huge, you know, and I can’t figure out why. He doesn’t have a flatmate or anything, but it’s way too big for one person, and he told me he wasn’t working a second job while he was doing the apprenticeship. He must be from a rich family.”

“Why is that weird?”

“Because I assumed the opposite. He said his family didn’t give him the opportunity to go through school—what family doesn’t want their kid to do well in school? Much less a rich one?”

“Maybe he’s had a big inheritance from someone?”

“Or maybe he’s related to the mafia,” Seungkwan says, pulling his sunglasses off so Hyungwon can grasp his expression.

“You’re so stupid,” Hyungwon tells him, unaffected. “Why would a mafia member come to you to work on androids?”

“Maybe he’s in one of those groups that manufacture androids into illegal technology. Modify them for sex and stuff. Maybe he needed more experience with me to make his model perfect—and to steal parts from me at the same time.” He taps the side of his head knowingly.

“If you actually believed any of this, you wouldn’t have agreed to go on a museum date on Thursday,” Hyungwon points out. He hands his empty cup back to Kihyun, who goes to take it to the recycling bin.

Seungkwan pouts. “Maybe so. But a boy can wonder.”

-

Mingyu doesn’t open up about his homelife. Seungkwan can’t force him to, if he wants his privacy, but as the months go on and he still doesn’t have answers, it makes him nervous. How long can he continue in this relationship when he doesn’t know who Mingyu is?

“Hey,” he says as they walk down the street, hand in hand. “How come I’ve never met your android?”

“My android?” Mingyu asks, peering into a shop window.

“Yeah,” he says. “He’s never around when I’m at yours.”

“I got rid of him a couple of months ago,” Mingyu says casually.

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you can do it, I thought I should try it, too.”

“Huh,” he says, watching Mingyu’s side profile carefully. “Isn’t it weird?”

“What?”

“Adjusting? Most people grow up with one in the house.”

He shrugs. “It’s been easier than you’d think.”

“Interesting,” he says, staring some more. The more he knows about Mingyu, the less he understands.

“I know I am,” Mingyu says cheerfully. “Do you want to go in here?”

“Mingyu,” he says, pulling him to a stop in the street. “You have to stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Giving me vague answers—diverting the conversation when it’s something you don’t want to tell me about. You can’t hide forever. How am I supposed to know you if you won’t let me?”

Mingyu looks at him, suddenly serious. “There are some things you don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“How can you say that?” he asks, voice rising.

Mingyu looks away from him, then down at the floor, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me.”

That makes him reel away from his quiet form, the anxious curl in his fingers. “I could never hate you. Whatever it is, I want to know so that I can help you.”

Mingyu lifts his shoulders up nervously, looking around them quickly. “Let me work on it. I’ll tell you when I can.”

“Okay,” he agrees, giving a quick peck to his lips. “That’s all I ask for.” He smiles and takes his hand, pulling him into the shop. “You still want to go in here?”

Mingyu nods, letting Seungkwan lead him inside.

-

He’s supposed to be having a lazy morning when Hyungwon buzzes his phone. What makes him answer is the fact that it isn’t Kihyun trying to reach him—it’s Hyungwon.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he croaks, rolling over in bed. “You finally using the phone I got you?”

“Kihyun is broken,” Hyungwon says. “Can you come over and look at him?”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s not responding to commands. He’s just wandering around like he’s on free range mode, but I definitely left him on sleep mode.”

“Sounds like your sensors are misaligned.”

“Is that something you can fix?”

Seungkwan snorts, sitting up in bed. “Of course I can. What do you take me for?”

“Can you come over, then? Kihyun—hey, don’t step there!”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“He just stepped in the cat litter tray.”

“Looks like you have some cleaning to do in the meantime, then.”

When he arrives, Hyungwon has Kihyun strapped to a chair, somehow—androids are strong and heavy to make them adept at doing tasks around the house, so it’s hard to make them do something they don’t have lined up in their commands. Purple eyes flit around the room, looking for tasks that he can’t process properly.

“Hi, Kihyun,” he says, coming into the kitchen and setting down his tool bag.

“Hello to you too,” Hyungwon grumbles.

“This should be a quick procedure, as long as you don’t freak out on me, okay?” He pulls down Kihyun’s loose shirt and applies the port access tool to his shoulder, where the main sensors are placed. Sure enough, once it’s opened, it’s easy to see that they’ve been knocked out of place, misaligned with his processors.

“God, what do you have him doing, Hyung?” Seungkwan asks, taking a pair of thin gloves out of his bag. “Whatever it is has strained his shoulder hinges too much. This one has come out of place, and it’s knocked his sensors out.”

“We did some heavy lifting yesterday.”

“You mean he did some heavy lifting yesterday?” Seungkwan mutters, carefully taking a pair of tweezers to the sensor and easing it back into place.

“Yeah, alright, he did some heavy lifting. Is he going to be okay?”

“Just fine,” he assures him. “You’ll need to send him to my shop sometime to get this hinge replaced, but this should do for now.” He spends some minutes moving the sensor is back into place, then takes some seal glue to help keep it in place, applying it around the edges.

With that, he closes the access port up again. Kihyun’s eyes flash, recognising the alteration and recalibrating his sensors. “Modification accepted,” he says, focusing on Seungkwan. “Hello, Seungkwan. Why am I strapped to a chair?”

“Don’t worry about it, Kihyun,” Seungkwan says, even as Hyungwon starts undoing the knots. “Can you show me your systems real quick?”

“Sure,” he says, his interface flashing up in front of him. Seungkwan scrolls through quickly.

“All seems good. Do you feel okay?”

“My systems feel fully functional.”

“Make an errand note to come and get your main shoulder hinge replaced at the next opportunity.” He turns his attention to Hyungwon. “He’s fine, Hyung. Thanks for dragging me out of bed for this. You’ve got a notice, by the way.”

Kihyun stands up from his chair, freed, and Hyungwon rounds on him to see his interface. “Oh? It’s an emergency notice,” he says, gesturing to open it up. “We don’t get those often.”

“Emergency notice from the government,” Kihyun announces. “A dangerous criminal has been tracked to South Korea. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, notify the authorities immediately.” An image pops up onto Kihyun’s interface, and Seungkwan’s jaw drops.

“Huh,” Hyungwon says. “He looks like a model, not a criminal. How the hell can’t they find this guy? You’d think he’d stick out in a crowd.”

“I have to go,” Seungkwan blurts out, backing away from the picture of Mingyu staring at him, DANGEROUS flashing above his head.

“Seungkwan?” Hyungwon says, turning around. “Do you know him?”

“Any knowledge of his whereabouts must be reported to the authorities,” Kihyun repeats.

“I—listen, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, eyeing Kihyun as he walks back down the corridor to slip on his shoes.

“If you know who he is, don’t go to him! It says he’s dangerous, Seungkwan!”

He yanks open Hyungwon’s door, stepping outside. “I promise I’ll be in touch!” he says, rushing to his car without looking back. Mingyu wouldn’t hurt a fly. Mingyu won’t hurt him.

He just has a lot of explaining to do.

-

He raps on the door quickly, chest heaving from running up the stairs of Mingyu’s apartment building. For a long minute, there’s no answer, so he knocks again.

“Mingyu, it’s me. Can you open up?”

There’s the sound of movement further in the flat, and a shadow darkens the bottom of the doorway. “What have you come for?” Mingyu says from the other side.

“It’s not to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says knocking his forehead against the door. “I’d never hurt you. Just like you’d never hurt me, right?”

There’s quiet for a few moments. “Right,” Mingyu says, from the other side of the door.

“So please open the door. Let’s talk about this.”

The sound of a latch scraping across the door makes him move his head away, just in time for Mingyu to open the door. He steps inside quickly and shuts the door behind him.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he says, stepping into Mingyu’s space. “What the hell is that notice?”

Mingyu swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “I think you need to sit down. I have a lot to tell you.”

“Am I finally getting the talk? Are you going to explain everything?”

“Yes,” Mingyu says resolutely. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Can you stop saying that? I’ll decide what I think when I hear it, okay?”

Mingyu looks at him, then nods. “Okay.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be running from the government right now, or something?” he asks, following him through to his living room.

“That’s what I have been doing. That’s how I ended up here.”

He sits on the sofa, Mingyu gingerly taking a place beside him. There’s a piece of software running on the huge interface broadcasting on the wall opposite them, calculating numbers faster than Seungkwan can follow.

“Whose interface is that? I thought you didn’t have an android?”

“It’s mine,” Mingyu says.

“Yes, obviously, but where is it coming from?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath. “Seungkwan. I’m not what you think I am.”

Seungkwan looks at him intently. So intently that when Mingyu blinks and his chestnut brown eyes suddenly gleam an electric blue, it makes him jump out of his seat, hand over his mouth.

“What are you?” he asks, voice coming out a whisper.

“I’m an android.”

“No you’re not,” he replies immediately. “I would know. You’re nothing like any android I’ve ever worked with.”

“I’m very advanced. I was manufactured by the best scientists in the country, modified by spies and special agents, upgraded by specialists. Funded by the government.”

“Why? What is your function?” he asks, still standing up, Mingyu sat complacently.

“To infiltrate. I was sent to Japan, to North Korea, China. My task was to get into high up places by any means, get information, and send it back here.”

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan says, sinking back down into the sofa before his legs give out. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Mingyu says, gently. “That was my job for four years.”

“That’s how you’re so good at everything. You’re an android. And a special agent. Of course you are.” He puts his head in his hands. “It’s why you don’t have any friends, any family. Any history at all.”

He’s silent for a minute, trying to process the thought of it. His boyfriend, an android. Mingyu doesn’t say anything.

“What changed?” he asks, lifting his head from his hands to look into his face. “How did you go from international spy to a mechanic’s apprentice?”

“I had orders. To kill a Thai noble—in retaliation for some deal gone wrong. But I didn’t want to do it.”

“You ran away from your commands?”

Mingyu nods. “I’m built to resemble a human as closely as possible, but they did too good of a job. Over the years, I was gaining a conscience. I was picking up experiences and morals and I received this order…and I disobeyed. I was able to break away from their control. I’ve been fleeing the government ever since. They’ve been trying to track me, but one of my functions is technological interference. I’ve been erasing evidence of my existence from cameras or other androids to cover my tracks. That’s why they’ve put this notice out, I guess. I can’t interfere with human minds, people who have seen me and remembered me.”

“They want to get you back.”

Mingyu nods. “Pretty badly. Putting that notice out there makes my face public. It means I won’t be able to work for them again, unless they strip me down and give me a different casing. They want me back so badly they’re willing to sabotage their own project. They know how much I can do.”

“What have you been doing, while on the run? What was your plan when you came to me?”

He gestures to the interface on the wall. “I’ve been trying to look into the government’s databases, find the files on this project. My project. I know they’ll try to make others like me, and I don’t want that to happen. I’ve been taking money from the people who funded my project, to fund myself. The apprenticeship was a side thing. My makers never taught me about android mechanics, or how to fix myself, and I knew that I needed that knowledge. Inevitably, I’ll need repairs, and I can’t trust anyone else do it. Like you said, I’m not an ordinary android.”

“And me? Why have you been going out with me for the past six months?” he asks. “Human study?”

Mingyu whips his head up to look at him, stunned.

“What?”

“Why spend so much time with me? How does it help you?” He’s trying to keep his voice level, but he feels ready to scream. “Am I a study, or something?”

“No! You’re my boyfriend!”

“Mingyu, you’re an android. You can’t feel love.”

He stands up quickly, affronted. “I can!”

“How? You have no hormones, no biology—”

“Do I need those things to be in love with you?” he says. Amazingly, there’s tears forming in his eyes. “Or do I need to know you? Do I need to want to be with you all the time, to care for you, to listen to you teach and laugh and talk?”

“Mingyu—”

“I’m in love with you. I grew a conscience, and broke away from the control of my makers. I gained morals, and I gained normal human behaviours—things that I do now, and I don’t know why. Why am I crying?” He wipes at his own tears. “I don’t know! Why do I feel all these things for you, Seungkwan? Why is it that you’re the first human being to truly care about me, to want to know about me as a person, not about my functions?” He looks at Seungkwan, blinking the tears away. “I don’t know. But I never lied about how I feel about you.”

“Mingyu,” Seungkwan breathes, standing up to wipe a tear from his cheek. “You’re really not an android.”

He looks down at Seungkwan, eyes big. “What do you mean?”

“Androids don’t cry. They don’t fall in love. They have a moral compass that’s programmed into them, but you’ve formed your own. You’re not supposed to be able to do all of this. Mingyu—you’re artificial life. This is what scientists have been trying to do for years.”

“So you believe me? That I’ve never lied to you about how I feel?” He puts his hands on Seungkwan’s side tentatively.

“That’s what you took from that?” Seungkwan tuts. “Did you miss the part where I said you’re a miracle of science?”

“I don’t really care,” Mingyu says, knocking his forehead against Seungkwan’s. “I just want you to believe me.”

“I believe you,” he says, resting a hand at the base of Mingyu’s neck. “It’s going to take me some time to come to terms with the fact that I’m dating a robot, but…”

“Hey,” Mingyu pouts. “I’m not a robot. I’m artificial life.”

“So you do listen,” he teases.

“Always to you.”

“It’s how you’re such a quick learner.”

“I learn from the best.”

“Thanks. But right now, I need you to teach me, instead,” Seungkwan says, separating from Mingyu’s hold to walk over to the interface on the wall. “This is the program you’ve been using to dig up your project, right? Do you think they’ve caught onto what you’re doing—is that why the criminal notice was sent out?”

“Maybe?” Mingyu says, running a hand through his hair and sitting down again. “It’s not like I’ve done any real damage, though.”

“You haven’t made any progress on getting into their database?”

“No, I keep coming up blank. But I can’t really tell why. I’m supposed to be fully versed in hacking and database infiltration—for some reason, I just can’t figure out their firewalls.”

Seungkwan hums, watching the program run diligently. “Can I take a look at your software?”

Mingyu blinks at him in surprise. “Why?”

“An android isn’t supposed to go against their masters—they could’ve programmed a block into you.”

“But I already overrode it when I broke away from their commands.”

He shakes his head. “They would’ve planted something in you to stop others from taking control of you and using your technology against them. You were able to break it off completely because they didn’t program against that—an android taking control of themselves isn’t supposed to be possible, right? So there’ll still be a block in there to prevent your functions from working against them via someone else, which could’ve easily recognised you as a foreign user, now. If I can locate the block, the two of us together should be able to break it down.”

Mingyu looks at him intently. “You realise what this means, right? If you do this, you’ll be aiding me.”

“I’ll be aiding a highly dangerous criminal?” Seungkwan smiles, walking over to sit by him. “Exciting.”

“I’m serious. They’ll come for you too, if they find out.”

“Then they’d better not find out,” he says, resting a hand on Mingyu’s knee. “I’m on your side. No matter what. I told you I wanted to help you, didn’t I?”

Mingyu sighs, putting his head in his hands. “You’re too good to me.”

“Don’t talk like that, okay? Open up your software for me, and let’s get down to work.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. His systems pop up onto the interface, and Seungkwan stands up again to see Mingyu’s code reel onto the screen, what must be billions of lines of complex commands and data that make him up. “This is… truly beautiful. You’re incredible.”

He shoots Seungkwan a small smile. “Thank you. Do you think you can handle it?”

“It’s no problem,” he says, rolling his shoulder joints until they click. “Though I’m going to need some time, and some food. Do you have anything in?”

“Seungkwan,” Mingyu says, patiently. “I don’t need to eat.”

“Oh,” he says. “So, all the times you ate in front of me…?”

“It’s mostly for show. I can last on it if I don’t have access to a battery port, but I run on electricity, primarily.”

“Huh,” he says, nodding. “Makes sense. Can you pull up the contact network for me?”

Mingyu complies without question, and Seungkwan types in Kihyun’s connection number.

“Hyung!” he says, when the call goes through to Hyungwon.

“Seungkwan? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, all fine here—that guy on the notice looks like Mingyu, but turns out it isn’t him at all. Don’t worry about it. I was wondering if you could send Kihyun to get me some takeout?”

“What do you mean? How could you not recognise your own boyfriend? And why would Kihyun—”

“I panicked, okay? I had a stupid moment. And you can think of it as payment for fixing his sensors.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Hyungwon makes a face at him. “Thanks, Hyung!” He dismisses the call before Hyungwon can respond.

Mingyu snorts. “That’s your Hyung?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, going back to scrolling through Mingyu’s incredible code. “You should meet him sometime, when you’re not a wanted criminal.”

“About that,” Mingyu says. “Exposing this project will ideally shut them down, but it won’t clear my name.”

“But it will, won’t it?” he says, turning to Mingyu, bright eyed. He hasn’t felt this invigorated since he dismantled his first android back in school, saw all the inner workings, everything that made it tick. “If we put all the information on you onto the web, we can show the world that you’re not a criminal—the facility that made you are the criminals. You can go public, let the world know that you’re our first real model of artificial life. There’s international laws in place condemning illegal android use, and protecting living beings, like you.”

Mingyu purses his lips. “But will they protect me? I’m not exactly who those laws are intended for.”

“It’s our best bet. I can testify to how very alive you are, Mingyu. Your code proves it, too—look here.” He points to a section of the code he’s been watching. “This is your moral centre. In a normal android, it’s fixed by the moral of a country’s law—do not steal, do not kill, blah blah. Yours used to be a little more radical, but now it’s…”

“Changing?” he says, gaping at the line of code.

“Yeah. It’s constantly rewriting itself. That’s very human. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on. Is it okay to bitch behind her back? Is it okay to take the cash from the floor? We walk a fine line—a changing moral compass.”

“Huh,” he says, watching the code type itself out and disappear again, coming back slightly different each time.

“I bet we’ll find more things like that, things that differentiate you from other androids. I’ll note them down while we look for your block.”

“You think we can actually get away with this?” Mingyu asks, looking at him with such trust that it’s a little overwhelming.

“We have to try. I won’t sleep easy again if I don’t.”

Kihyun’s takeout meal, two hours of sleep, and twelve hours later, he finds Mingyu’s block. As he’d suspected, it’s rigid, protecting his directives towards the Korean government.

“You said you’ve been trained in hacking, right?” he says, and Mingyu startles at the sudden noise after a night of focused silence between them. How very human of him, Seungkwan thinks.

“Yeah. I’m an expert in it.”

“Good. I’ve found your block—you’re going to have to figure out the passcode for me to be able to access it.”

A smile grows on Mingyu’s face. “You’re a genius.”

He shrugs, but he’s pleased with himself. “That sort of thing is going around. You ready to do your part, robot boy?”

“I’m not a robot,” Mingyu murmurs, but he’s already lost in his system, electric blue eyes scanning the block and working on cracking the passcode to it.

“Sure,” he says, patting his shoulder as he leaves the room. “Wake me up when you’re done.”

The fact that Mingyu doesn’t follow that command at all is further confirmation that he’s no android. Seungkwan stumbles back into the room ten hours later to find Mingyu sat in the same place on the floor, legs crossed and eyes trained on the interface. He tries to follow the numbers flashing by, but quickly decides to focus on his coffee instead. He’s too sleepy for this.

“Did you crack it?” he asks, voice rough from sleep.

“Hours ago,” Mingyu says. “I’ve been updating my program since then. I think it’s nearly ready.”

“Do you need me to do anything else?”

“Can you check I rewrote my code properly?” he asks, pulling up his unlocked block. The code looks completely different now, allowing him to free will, rather than a divergent channel for inquisitive directives.

“Yeah, that looks good to me.”

“You know, this is what I’ve been trying to do for over a year,” he huffs. “And you waltzed in and found the reason why I couldn’t straight away.”

“What a dream team,” he says, winking at the back of his head. Mingyu sees him with his peripheral sensors, and quirks his lips into a smirk.

“I think I have it,” he says, and his eyes fade from electric blue back to their comfortable brown. He stands up and comes to sit by Seungkwan, snuggled into the sofa. “It’s ready.”

“This is it?”

“Yes. If this works, the information could change everything.”

Seungkwan sits up a little straighter, putting his cup down on the table. “Let’s do it. We’ll get justice for you, Gyu.”

Mingyu smiles at him and takes his hand, clutching onto him. “You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’re going to fix this together,” he says, squeezing his hand back. “Execute the program.”

Mingyu looks at him, then looks over to his interface, eyes lighting up as the program sets to work.

-

He sits on the couch stiffly, clutching Mingyu’s hand in his and waiting for the morning show host to start talking. They’ve done dozens of these over the years, but it never gets less nerve wracking.

“It’s been four years since the infamous AL leak changed what we know about android technology. As the court case surrounding the controversy continues, we have here in the studio the stars of the case, artificial life form Kim Mingyu and droid mechanic Boo Seungkwan. Mingyu and Seungkwan, welcome to the studio.”

“Thank you,” Mingyu says politely.

“Pleasure to be here,” Seungkwan adds. He hates being here, but they need the public on their side, and seeing Mingyu’s face on the TV can be rather persuasive, he thinks.

“So, Mingyu—tell us what’s new with your case. Where do you stand in the eyes of the law?”

“Well, I’m allowed outside now, which is nice,” he says. “I was kept in a detention centre for nearly a year, as the court decided whether I was allowed to be here as a citizen or not. I was given a temporary citizenship under extreme circumstances when it became clear that my case was going to take a long time to organise. Currently, my lawyers are focusing on the directives I was given by my creators, how their illegality makes them accountable for my early actions as an agent. The court recently recognised me as artificial life, so now I only have to wait to see what laws they’ll build for that.”

“They’re creating laws from scratch for you?” the host says, though he doesn’t seem surprised. That’s one of the well-publicised aspects of their case.

“Yes—they have to, since I’m not biologically human, but I fit into to every other aspect of human life. I’m my own category, but before long, there’ll be others like me. Laws need to be put in place for the case to continue, and for the sake of future technological development.”

“What is the outcome you’re fighting for, then? That you should be given the same rights as humans?”

“That’s correct.”

“Seungkwan, I believe you originally pushed for Mingyu to have a complete legal status as human, is that correct?”

“I’m still pushing for it now. I think you only have to talk to Mingyu to know that he’s just as human as you or me. He’s wired differently, but the result is the same.”

“How can you be sure that this isn’t an illusion—an extension of the programs originally built into Mr. Kim, deliberately designed to manipulate human targets?”

He raises his eyebrow at the man, tilting his head a little. “Because while it might’ve fooled humans at first, it didn’t fool him. It’s clear from the footage released of his four years under the government’s direction how much Mingyu has changed since then. His old behaviour is that of human construction; his behaviour after breaking away from the government is all him. I’d wager Mingyu is a lot more human than the people who made him.”

The host nods, moving on from the topic, disgruntled by Seungkwan’s answer. “How about the argument about soulmate marks? Some have made the point that one thing all humans have in common are marks—not everyone will get one, but we have the potential to. Can Mingyu ever really be classified as human or near-human when he does not have this capability?”

Seungkwan can see the glint in the host’s eyes, and it makes his smirk hard to repress. He’s been hoping they’d be asked this.

“Oh, but I do!” Mingyu says, rolling up his sleeve. Seungkwan locks eyes with the host as he rolls up his own sleeve, holding his left wrist out next to Mingyu’s. Around his wrist crawls a red bouvardia, in a matching position to Mingyu’s red chrysanthemum.

“We had them appear the other day,” Seungkwan says, watching the host go speechless. “We were as delighted as you are.”

“I—well, wow, isn’t that just….” the host trails off.

“Wonderful, yes,” Seungkwan picks up. “Clearly the biological aspect doesn’t matter that much—he’s close enough to human for mother nature to pick him as my soulmate. I hope this is good enough validation for the public to continue to support us in this endeavour, too.”

“Indeed,” the host says, adjusting his tie and turning back to the camera. “With that said, I’ll pass over to our on-site reporter…”

Seungkwan feels Mingyu’s hand rest on his wrist, over his mark, and turns to face him.

“What is it?” he asks, voice low, aware of the eyes of the studio crew on them.

“Nothing,” Mingyu says. “I love you, is all.”

Seungkwan smiles up at him. “I love you too. It’s going to get easier from here, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “Because I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bouvardia flower: enthusiasm
> 
> apologies to anyone with knowledge of robotics or coding, because i surely have none
> 
> au inspired by [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219678)


	7. LJH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): discussions of death, depiction of a fatal head injury, depiction of a fatal heart attack

“As you can see, it’s quite roomy for a one-person apartment,” she says, leading Seungkwan around the bare apartment. Roomy is perhaps an overstatement, but it is a nice place—for the price it is, he’d expected it to be grimy or old on the inside.

“I’ll take it,” he says, and the sales agent stutters in surprise.

“If you need time to think about it, you don’t have to put down the deposit until—”

“No, I like it. I’d like to move in as soon as possible. How quickly can the paperwork be done?”

-

He doesn’t know anyone in Seoul, so it’s down to him to move all his belongings into the flat. He doesn’t mind—as long as he has a bed to sleep in, he can get started with his work straight away. And maybe he doesn’t even need the bed. There’s a sofa in here from the previous owner that looks plenty comfortable. Once the last box is safely deposited in the apartment, he turns around and walks right out again, locking up and heading into the city. He thinks about taking a bus, but he doesn’t want to get lost on the way there; the library is within walking distance, anyway.

He barely takes the time to appreciate the size of the place when he arrives, entering with excitement buzzing under his skin. He rushes through signing up and gets directed to the section he’s looking for, taking in the sight of the shelves upon shelves of books and sighing in relief. Here, surely, he’ll find answers. Finally. He’s only allowed ten books out at a time, so he takes five from Non-Fiction: Soulmates & Marks, and another five from Religion: Spirituality, picking out the books on life, death, and reincarnation. He’ll go for broad books first; hopefully they’ll direct him to the more specific topics that could yield results. One of the religion books is particularly hefty, and the librarian looks at him strangely as he heaves them into his arms, struggling to see over the top of the pile.

“Thanks!” he says, balancing them between his palms and his chin as he leaves. The walk back takes twice as long, burdened by the heavy weight he’d checked out, but he rewards himself by ordering takeout as soon as he’s home. Sweaty, but accomplished, he sets his books down, and starts reading.

A short time later, halfway through a paragraph about Jainism, he’s startled out of his concentration by a loud thump coming from the kitchen. He looks up, but nothing comes after that, so he cautiously stands from where he’d been stretched out on the floor, his bones aching in protest as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

He finds the source of the noise quickly—a spatula, laying in the middle of the floor, as if it had been dropped. He looks up at the box of kitchenware still sitting on the counter—it had been sticking out of the top, he remembers. It must’ve fallen out of the pile and onto the floor. He bends to pick it up, wedging it back into the box firmly and narrowing his eyes at it, as if daring it to move.

He’s interrupted by the noise of the doorbell, strangely loud in this tiny apartment, and goes to collect his food.

-

He falls asleep surrounded by his books and wakes up disoriented. It’s his first day at University, but he’s considering blowing it off—getting into the course had been no more than an excuse, a reason to move to the biggest city in South Korea to continue his research. Still, he needs to pass his studies if he wants to stay here next year, too. God, he hopes he has some answers by then.

His dream leaves him feeling drained, though. Every so often he has a vivid one, one that seems more visceral than his current life, and he wakes up brimming with memories, wrought with emotion. Last night was Yena’s wedding day, how beautiful she’d looked, how special that day had been. He remembers crying so much, so happy for her, but so sad too, that life was slipping by so fast. That she was so grown already. He thinks now that he should’ve appreciated that moment more. Why was he so sad? At least he still had her, then.

A thump from the kitchen snaps him out of his thoughts. He rubs at his eyes at sits up, frowning at the kitchen door. Sure enough, he enters to see the spatula laying on the floor again, this time accompanied by his box of cutlery.

Okay, that’s weird. He’s sure the box was under the plates, and by no means should’ve fallen out on their own. It’s like someone pulled them out and dumped them on the floor to get his attention.

“Hello?” he says, to his empty apartment. He should be happy he doesn’t get a response back, but it leaves him feeling more uneasy. Shaking his head, he picks up the cutlery and the spatula, and this time, dumps them inside one of the drawers.

He really needs to unpack. He decides he’ll skip his first day of school to get his shit together and go shopping; it’ll only be introductory stuff that he misses, anyway.

-

He makes himself lunch with his newly bought food, then sets out to the library to exchange the books he’d finished last night. The librarian is the same one working there yesterday—she looks at him in surprise when he hands over the three books.

“Not what you were looking for?” she asks, politely.

“No, I read them all,” he answers. “Can I go and get some more out straight away?”

“Erm, yes…” she replies, blinking at him.

“Thanks!”

He picks out more soulmate books and heads back home, feeling her stare on his back on his way out. Maybe she should mind her own business.

When he arrives back at the flat, he walks in to see the spatula at his feet, right on top of the welcome mat.

“Alright,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I see what’s going on here. It’s ghosts, in this life! You know, I thought I’d seen it all, but apparently not.” He picks it up from the floor and walks into the kitchen, dropping the books on the side, waving the spatula around like it’s a weapon. “I’ve fought zombies, paparazzi, aliens; married a robot, courted a vampire, kind of. I’ve been shot, and I’ve killed enemies in war—” he does a full spin of the room, holding the spatula out threateningly, “—I’ve even raised a _daughter_! You do not scare me, ghost flatmate! Show yourself!”

The apartment is completely silent. He walks over to the side and puts the spatula back in its drawer, slamming it shut. “That’s what I thought. Coward.”

-

He reads an article on the bus to school the next day that he finds interesting. He makes notes about it instead of listening to his Society & Politics lecture, and the girl next to him gives him strange looks. He writes out one passage in his own handwriting, mulling the words over as they form on the page.

_If we as humans have the capability to love more than one person, where is the line drawn? Could we, theoretically, fall in love with anyone, given enough time and patience? Not all couples gain soulmate marks in their lifetime, and we aren’t sure why—but plenty of people gain more than one in a lifetime. Ten is the highest known record, but if there were no restraints of lifespan, language barriers, or cultural expectation—could we fall in love with the whole world?_

His main theory is that once he meets all his soulmates, in all his lives, maybe he’ll be done. He’ll stop coming back, living new lives, falling in love over and over again. He doesn’t believe the ideas in this article have that much merit—there’s some people he could never fall in love with, no matter how much he could try—but the question is, how many people are potential soulmates? He’s already on life number seven. The article had said the record was ten, but he remembers a story from his past life about the man who had nearly twenty soulmate marks. Lifespan was a lot more extended, then, further into the future, and so the amount of average soulmates was also higher—the reporter of this article had been onto something. Love wasn’t something exclusive. It was something you could keep passing out, if you wanted to.

But what does that mean for him? Will he keep going forever, meeting all these soulmates until he can’t remember his first lives anymore? The first one is the most distant to him, even now—all he knows is that he’d wanted to sing. He wonders if there were lives before that one that he’s forgotten, or if the fourteen-year-old singer was the original Seungkwan.

It drives him to get home as quickly as he can to start on the reincarnation books, choosing to skip out on the Anthropology class. He’s read so many testimonies about reincarnation online, is a part of so many forums about past lives. Most people only reported faint memories, brief glimpses of a past life. Times when deja vu would hit them so strongly they can’t stand, but they weren’t sure what it meant. Try as he might, Seungkwan can’t relate to these people—he can remember so many specific details of his other lives, so strongly.

Maybe if he writes them out, he can draw comparisons, look for patterns. He drops the reincarnation book—he hadn’t been focused on it anyway—and pulls out his new stack of plain paper. Writes SEUNGCHEOL in big letters, and sticks it up on the wall, begins to write out his job, his birthday, his likes and dislikes, his habits and beliefs, then sticks them up on the wall around his name. There’s so much more he could write, but he moves onto Wonwoo anyway, desperate to get it all out of his head, put it into something he can measure and assess.

When he looks up from his last page—Mingyu’s campaign work, details about the charity he’d set up in his last years before his systems shut down—he sees it’s nearly five in the morning. He’d spent most of the night pasting his living room wall with details, and all he has to show for it are a bunch of words. No answers. He puts his head in his hands, feeling exhaustion creep up on him, an ache that’s settled in him for longer than just tonight. The longer he looks for answers, he only has more questions, and he’s no closer to the soulmates he’s lost.

Something hits him on the side of the head, and he screams. He jumps back and scrambles away from whatever had attacked him, leaping up to stand on the sofa on the other side of the room. He looks around for his attacker, alert and alarmed—all he can see is the spatula on the floor, unmoving and innocuous.

“Hey!” he shouts into his empty living room. “I told you! I’m not taking this! I live here now! I’m just trying to study! Can you leave me alone?”

A disembodied snort comes from the doorway. “You call this studying? I call this crazy. You know, I’m dead, and I still feel like I have my life together more than you do.”

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan says, frozen where he’s stood on the sofa. “You really are a ghost.”

“What is all of this?” the ghost says. One of the papers on the wall wavers like someone’s running a hand over it.

“Why should I tell you?” Seungkwan asks, affronted. “You threw my spatula at me!”

“If you tell me, I’ll stop messing with your spatula.”

“I don’t know if ghosts have any sense of decency, but not throwing spatulas at people is just, like, a decent way to behave. How about you show yourself so I can look you in the eyes and tell you that I’m not scared of you?”

“Wouldn’t you like that?” the voice says, from right behind Seungkwan’s ear. Seungkwan shrieks and jumps off the sofa, running to the other side of the room.

“Can you not do that? What did I ever do to you?” he shouts, squashing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’m dead, and I don’t owe anyone anything,” ghost boy says. It sounds like he’s sat on Seungkwan’s sofa, enjoying himself far too much. “An it’s not like I’m going anywhere, so maybe you should just tell me about your crazy wall. Maybe talking about it out loud would help you do—whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

“Or you could leave me alone and let me research in peace?” Seungkwan suggests.

“But that’s so boring!” the ghost says cheerfully. The spatula skids across the floor towards him like it’s been kicked, and Seungkwan glares at it. “Either you move out, or you get used to me being here.”

“Why did you get so talkative all of a sudden? Five minutes ago you were content with throwing things at me.”

“Would you rather I stick to throwing things at you?”

“No!”

“Then can’t we be friends?” he says, voice light.

Seungkwan knocks his head against the wall and takes a minute to breathe, trying to slow his heart rate and consider his options. This ghost doesn’t seem malicious, and maybe trying to get along with him will make life easier for the both of them. He’s sick of chasing after his spatula. “How about this; you tell me your name, and show yourself properly. Then I’ll know you’re serious about being friends, and I’ll tell you what all the information on the wall means.”

Silence hangs in the room for a long minute, neither of them moving. He wonders if the ghost has gone, unwilling to compromise.

Then, suddenly, there’s a boy sat on his sofa. “My name is Lee Jihoon,” he says, watching Seungkwan carefully. He’s trying to come off relaxed, resting with one leg over the other, but he sat stock still, like prey trying to hide from a predator. “And I died a little over a year ago.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan says, feeling himself relax a little, as he edges out of the corner of the room. “You’re not that scary.”

Jihoon scowls at him. Maybe he’s a little scary. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Boo Seungkwan,” he says, taking another step forward. “Can we shake hands, or will I go right through you?”

Jihoon looks at him, expression deadpan. “I literally threw a spatula at you five minutes ago.”

“I don’t know the laws of ghosting,” he protests, moving cautiously, like Jihoon might bite. “Can you move things whenever you want?”

“Within this flat, yes,” he says, watching Seungkwan with light amusement as he edges closer. “Outside it, I can’t touch anything, or get anyone to hear me.”

Seungkwan is close enough to hold his hand out to Jihoon, who takes it calmly. He’s cold to the touch, but his skin feels rough and real, more so than he’d expected for a dead person.

“Nice to meet you, Jihoon,” he says, voice high.

“You too, Seungkwan.”

“Do you mind if I explain the crazy tomorrow?” he says. “I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. And I’ve just been introduced to my ghost flatmate. It’s been a long day.”

Jihoon laughs at him. “Sure thing, friend. It’s not like I have much to do. I’ll still be here.”

“Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Jihoon smiles, giving him a cheeky wave as he leaves the room.

Seungkwan needs to sleep for a long, long time.

-

“Jihoon?” he calls as soon as he enters the flat. “Are you here?”

“Where else would I be?” a voice comes back, unimpressed.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts as he pulls off his shoes. Thinking is a bit of an understatement—he hasn’t been able to think of much apart from Jihoon through his whole day at school. For the first time in two years, he hadn’t dreamt about one of his past lives last night—he’d dreamt about Jihoon, sitting in this empty apartment, alone. “Does anyone else know about you? I did some research about ghosts today, and people seem to think they’re not real. But you’re the proof, right here. Don’t you have family or anything? Someone you’d want to talk to? Do you want me to call Dispatch and make you famous?”

He walks through to the living room to find Jihoon flicking through one of his soulmate books, slowly. “No one else knows about me. While I was alive, I had my mother, and one friend. Neither of them need to know I’m here. It would just make things difficult for them.”

“Okay,” he says, not wanting to press on that. “But I’m allowed to know about you?”

“Well, yes. We both live here. Do you know how hard it is not to make any noise or touch anything? I’m a musician; noise is in my nature. It was inevitable you’d find out about me.”

He nods amiably. “Yeah, I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugs off his coat and opens his bag to pull out some papers, heading over to his wall. “You’ll be delighted to know I have new additions for the crazy wall.”

“Are they soulmate marks?” he asks, watching Seungkwan stick up the drawings. An astilbe, an iris, the sunflower, the hydrangea, the bouvardia. “These people are all your soulmates?”

“They were,” he replies, stepping back to look at the wall again. It looks nice, with a bit of colour—maybe he’ll sketch their faces next. He’s decent at art, in this life.

“You’re like, nineteen,” Jihoon says, sceptical. “I would be surprised if you had one mark, never mind five.”

“I haven’t known any of them in this life,” he says, backing up to sit on the floor beside Jihoon, who watches him closely. “I don’t think they even exist here. I’ve tried looking; there’s no record of them, anywhere.”

“Explain,” Jihoon insists. “From the beginning.”

Seungkwan leans back against the sofa and begins.

“On the night of my seventeenth birthday, I had a series of crazy dreams. More vivid than I’ve ever experienced. When I woke up, I had the biggest headache—and a whole load of new memories.” He gestures to the wall in front of them. “Six lives worth of new memories. I thought I was going crazy at first—but I knew it wasn’t my imagination. The things I know now, that I didn’t know before—they’re too specific. They’re things I picked up in past lives.”

“Like what?”

“I know that babies start teething at around six months, but not to worry until it gets to ten months. I know how to purify water with only a dock leaf and a jar; I know how to rewire an android’s outer circuits if they need restoring. That knowledge won’t come in useful for another hundred years or so, though, until they start building androids.”

“You’re saying you’re from the future,” Jihoon says, voice flat.

“And the past, and the present. Really, though, I think it must be a matter of alternate universes—like I said, I haven’t found any evidence that they exist. For Seungcheol and Seokmin, at least. The other three were in the future. No evidence of me, either—I can remember a lot of things a did, a lot of places I’ve been, but there’s no evidence that I was ever there.” He stands up, walking back over towards the wall again. “Ever since that night, I’ve been looking for answers. Why do I keep being reborn? It doesn’t fit in with the Hindu concept of reincarnation, because I always come back the same; same name, same face. Just different lives. But why am I the only one? Why can I find no one with the same experiences? And why did I remember all of this at seventeen? What’s the significance of that number? I know I’ve remembered at that age in my past lives, too—most of the time I dismissed it as dreams, because I never remembered as strongly as I do now.” Runs a hand through his hair. “So why am I overwhelmed by memories now? I can’t shake them, whatever I do—why, seven lives in, do I suddenly have so much awareness?”

He turns to face Jihoon, who’s staring at him, mouth parted.

“That’s my crazy. That’s what I moved here for. I’m trying to find answers.”

Jihoon lets out a long breath of air. “I think you need to take a yoga class, or something.”

That makes him bark out a laugh. “Yeah, probably. It’s hard to let go, though.”

“Do you really believe this? That you’re being reborn?”

“I know it. It’s just as real as anything in this life—as real as you or me or all of Seoul. Well, maybe a little more real than you.”

Jihoon stares at the wall. “You’ve got some crazy shit on here. Aliens and androids and zombies in the future.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says. “And you’re my ghost flatmate. Welcome to my lives.”

-

After that, his ghost flatmate starts to help him out. While he’s at school, getting his bare minimum attendance clocked in, Jihoon reads through his books, bookmarking parts that could be useful. It makes his job quicker, and he flies through his research faster than before, getting full use out of his library card. Seungkwan is touched by it; he supposes it means Jihoon believes him, and wants to help find answers.

“Hey,” he asks one day, looking up from his book. “You can’t eat, right?”

Jihoon barely glances at him. “Do I need to remind you that I’m dead?”

“No,” Seungkwan sighs. “I just wanted to do something nice. You’re always helping me out these days; I don’t know what to give a ghost to say thank you.”

Jihoon looks up at that, flustered. He goes to say something, but his voice dies in his throat.

“What is it?” Seungkwan asks, looking up from his book to give him his full attention.

Jihoon glances up at him, then over at the television, nervously. It had been there when Seungkwan had moved in; he wonders if it had been Jihoon’s, once.

“Do you want to watch something?”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to take you away from your work,” Jihoon says, lightly.

“I’m sure I can spare one night,” Seungkwan says, folding the corner of the page over and closing his book resolutely. “What do you want to do?”

Jihoon pauses, hesitantly. “When I was alive, I used to love musicals,” he says, all in a rush. “It’s been over a year since I’ve been able to watch anything. I miss music; I miss being able to play. I miss being able to put something on TV and not having to think about real life for two hours, because you’re too focused on Maria singing with the Von Trapp kids.” He shuffles uncomfortably where he’s sat. “Or something.”

Seungkwan is silent for a moment, taken aback. With the way Jihoon can walk through walls, disappear at will, doesn’t sleep or eat, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’s still a person. He still has loves and losses; he doesn’t talk about himself much, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have history.

“You want to watch the Sound of Music?” Seungkwan says, already standing up. “Hyung, your taste is excellent. I have the DVD, somewhere.”

“You do?”

“You bet. Do you want to get the popcorn?”

“I can’t eat, Seungkwan.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They’re only in the first third of the movie when the thumping of bass music starts to blast through the wall from next door, rattling his cupboard doors.

“Woah!” he says, jolting at the sudden noise. Jihoon only snickers at him and goes to turn the volume up.

“No need to jump out of your skin, Seungkwan.”

“Just because you’re dead and don’t feel fear,” Seungkwan retorts, sticking his tongue out.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m just used to it. Yoongi was my neighbour when I was alive, too.”

“Do you know him?”

“Wish I did. He barely leaves that apartment—I’ve only learned his name since I’ve died.”

Seungkwan side-eyes him. “Do you spy on your neighbours?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “My apartment was empty for a long time. I needed entertainment.”

“Huh.” He can’t say he would be any different. “Anything interesting?”

“He’s a producer,” Jihoon says. “One I quite like, actually. Shame he doesn’t want anything to do with anyone.”

“Never meet your idols,” Seungkwan grumbles, turning up the volume louder to combat the consistent baseline noise from the wall. “What an anti-social asshole.”

The noise doesn’t bother him too much as the movie goes on, becoming distant when he gets to hear Jihoon sing for the first time. He can’t seem hold it back, belting The Hills are Alive as soon as the musical number starts. His voice is beautiful, and Seungkwan makes a mental note to buy a speaker next time he’s out. If it’s music Jihoon wants, it’s music he’ll get.

When he goes the bed that night, he feels the weight of a body settle on the bed next to him, and it startles him at first. Then he smiles to himself—is Jihoon looking for company? More importantly—does he think he’s being subtle about it?

“Goodnight, Hyung,” he says. Jihoon doesn’t reply, but they both know he’s been caught.

Just before he can drop into sleep, he hears Jihoon’s quiet whisper of thanks from the pillow beside him, cool air brushing over his face.

-

They settle into a routine after that. Seungkwan starts bringing home more and more musicals for them to watch; some are terrible, some don’t have Korean subtitles, some are classics on second-hand disks that skip and stutter through the movie. Regardless, they always have fun, trying to sing to songs they don’t know, or follow plots they can’t translate. Gradually, Seungkwan finds himself giving more of his time to Jihoon, and less to his research.

He was only going in circles anyway, he tells himself.

“Do you remember how you died?” Jihoon asks one night, when they’re settled in the dark of Seungkwan’s bedroom, some time after they’ve finished arguing over whether Mamma Mia is worth the hype.

“Which life?” Seungkwan replies.

“Any of them. Did you die in any interesting ways?”

Seungkwan shrugs. “Not really. Old age, in most of them. I did get fatally wounded once, during the seven planets war with Wonwoo, but I ended up living until I was an old man, vacationing in some distant galaxy. I don’t remember anything past being fourteen in my first life, though. Sometimes I wonder if that means I died suddenly. I don’t know.”

“You’d still remember, even if it was sudden.” Jihoon says, his voice low. “I do.”

There’s silence for a minute. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask, if this is a prompt to talk about Jihoon’s death. He’s not sure if he wants to know; but if Jihoon’s never talked about it, maybe he should. “What happened?” he breathes into the dark.

Jihoon is lying still, next to him. Seungkwan reaches out for his hand, encouraging him to go on. He squeezes cold fingers in solidarity.

“I was a student when I lived here, like you,” he says. “I was working towards an assessment for the end of the year. I wasn’t very good at taking care of myself; I wasn’t sleeping, or eating, or replying to Wooseok’s annoying messages.”

“Your one friend?” Seungkwan guesses.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says. “Wooseok came around one day, banging on my door, demanding to come in. When I let him in, he started going on about taking care of myself, about eating properly, about how I’d kill myself overworking for a stupid assignment.” He swallows before continuing. “I was moody with him. I told him to leave, that I would be fine, that I’d call him when the assignment was done. When he wouldn’t leave, I started pushing him towards the door. He didn’t want to leave, so he pushed back.”

Jihoon shuffles closer to Seungkwan, burying his head into the pillow. “Wooseok was a big guy. Too tall for his own good, really. And he was right; I’d barely been eating anything. I’d lost a lot of weight. When he pushed me, he overjudged it—I went flying backwards, slammed my head into the sharp edge of the mantlepiece. I think it killed me instantly, because the next thing I know, I’m standing over my own body, and Wooseok is trying to shake me awake.”

Seungkwan moves forwards on the bed, impulsively bringing Jihoon in for a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

Jihoon leans into Seungkwan’s touch, wrapping his arms around him, basking in his warmth. “Seungkwan?” he says, voice barely more than a breath.

“Yes?”

“I think the reason I’m here is because of you.”

Seungkwan pulls back out of the hug to look at Jihoon’s face. “What?”

“I should’ve died, but I didn’t. I’m still here. You’re the only person in existence who can remember his past lives; you’re a ghost, in a way, and you managed to find the only other ghost in existence. Neither of us know why we’re here.” He takes in a shaky breath. “Perhaps we were meant to meet. Perhaps we’re in some glitch in the universe, and that’s why we both exist, despite all the odds.”

Seungkwan props himself up on one elbow. Their faces are close. “Are you saying you’re the next name on my wall, Jihoon?”

“Only if you’ll have me,” Jihoon whispers. His hand is shaking in Seungkwan’s grip.

Seungkwan leans down to kiss him, squeezing his fingers gently.

-

The bed is empty when he wakes up the next day. He pads through to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, expecting to hear Jihoon’s latest discovery from a night of reading; he’s only met with silence.

“Jihoon?” he says into the flat, listening out for any sign of him.

“Seungkwan,” Jihoon replies, materialising in the doorway.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, jumping a little. It’s unusual for Jihoon to disappear completely, these days. “So, we didn’t get to talk about it much last night, but I think you might be onto something. Maybe you’re my next soulmate, and that’s why you’re here, and why I have all my memories; they slipped through the cracks, just like you. Not supposed to be here, but here because there’s something about the two of us, you know? Fate, or whatever.” He pours hot coffee into his mug distractedly. “The only question is, can we ever know? Can ghosts get soulmate marks? You don’t age anymore, surely—and it’s not like we can go on dates, but we can always continue hanging out in the flat, like we have been doing—”

“Seungkwan,” Jihoon says again, bringing him to a halt.

“Yes?”

Jihoon doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for saying all that last night. I let my guard down.”

“What?” he says, blinking the drowsiness away. “I think you’re right, though?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jihoon says. “I’m dead. You can’t be confined to this place forever. It would be wrong of me to ask that of you. I’m not going to disturb you anymore.” He bows, stiff and uncomfortable. Seungkwan places his coffee back on the side, stunned. “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.” With that, he disappears, leaving the kitchen in silence.

“Don’t be stupid, Hyung, we might’ve found an answer! This is what I’ve been looking for! Hyung?”

There’s no response.

-

Over the next few weeks, he does everything he can think of to coax Jihoon out of his self-imposed exile. Brings home books on ghosts and demons, new accounts of past lives or multiple soulmates he’s dug up. He starts looking into hauntings and ghost attachments, too, alongside his work on the multiverse. He puts on new musicals, but watches them alone; he says goodnight to empty rooms, and gets no noise, no movement in response.

All too soon, he has to give up his research efforts to focus on his end of year exams. Now he knows that it’s crucial he stays here, where he can be close to Jihoon, he’s determined to bullshit as hard as he can to pass this year. He stays up until awful hours of the morning, slaving over notes and missed lectures; he skips meals, ignores calls from his parents, and falls asleep on his living room floor or sofa, most nights. He wonders if Jihoon is reminded of himself, if he’s even here to watch Seungkwan at all. He’s has played with the idea that Jihoon has left the flat entirely, wandering the earth, unseen and unheard. The thought hurts too much, so he chooses to believe he’s is still here, trying to make Seungkwan forget him, however impossible his endeavour is. Jihoon is the most interesting thing to happen to him since his seventeenth birthday, and the best thing to happen to him this whole lifetime. There will be no forgetting any time soon.

He stays in Seoul over the summer, working on his research, adding more to his crazy wall, explaining each addition out loud in case Jihoon wants to know. When the news comes in that he’s scraped by first year, he celebrates by buying himself a bottle of wine and watching the Sound of Music on full blast.

There’s still no sign of Jihoon.

-

That is, until he’s shaken awake in the middle of the night, some two weeks before second year is due to start.

“Seungkwan!” Jihoon is shouting. “Wake up! Your neighbour is dying!”

“Wha—what’s—”

“It’s Yoongi—I think he’s having a heart attack,” Jihoon replies, and Seungkwan almost falls out of his bed trying to run out of the room.

The front door to the next-door flat is open, thankfully, and he barges right through the dark living room and into the bedroom. The layout of his apartment is a replica of his own, almost down to the furniture placement, making it unnerving to see a limp body on the floor next to the bed.

“Sir?” Seungkwan says, running over to Yoongi and turning him onto his back. “Can you hear me?”

What are you supposed to do for a heart attack? CPR? He fumbles for a pulse, holding each wrist, then feeling at his neck—he finds nothing.

“Fuck,” he says, getting into position to perform CPR. “Please don’t die on me.”

He pumps his hands against his chest, hard and regular, trying to force his heart back into working. He’s had the training for this once before, but can’t for the life of him remember the details; after a minute of pumping at his heart, he leans down to breathe air into his lungs. There’s no response from Yoongi, so he goes back to it again, pressing on his heart. The second time he breathes air into his lungs, too, there’s nothing. He doesn’t dare stop for too long to check for a pulse, but he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up, either. After the third time, the man is still motionless, and his arms shaking from the effort of trying to force his heart back into life. One more time, he thinks. Then I’ll call for an ambulance.

He leans down again to blow air into his lungs, and this time, Yoongi’s mouth moves against his, trying to pull in air.

Seungkwan sits back on his knees, yelping in surprise. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

The man gulps in a few more breaths, trying to steady himself. He rolls over and plants his hands on the floor, focusing on breathing until he has enough air in his lungs. “I’m alive.”

“Uh-huh,” Seungkwan says, just as surprised as him. He hadn’t thought this sort of thing was possible without a defibrillator. “How do you feel?”

“Weird,” he replies. “I haven’t had to breathe in nearly two years.”

“You—what?”

Yoongi looks up at him, eyes shining in the dark. “Seungkwan, it’s me.”

He stares at his neighbour, uncomprehending. “Have we met before?”

“I mean it’s _me_. Jihoon.”

He sits back on his butt, hard, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright. This is another dream, right? Am I losing my mind, now?”

“I’m serious!” Jihoon says. “I was watching you try to save his life, but I knew his spirit had left. It felt the same as when I was looking at my own body; I knew it was an empty vessel. I reached out to touch him, and bam—suddenly I’m occupying it, and you’re looking at me like that.”

“Jihoon,” Seungkwan says, voice level, though he feels ready to scream. “Are you telling me you hijacked this man’s body?”

“No!” Jihoon protests. “It’s not hijacking if it doesn’t belong to him anymore. It’s free real estate.”

“I can’t believe this.” He places his head in his hands. “You can’t just take someone’s body!”

“It’s more like organ donation. Except he’s donated… all of his organs. Hey, he’s a hermit, you know? Hasn’t had a visitor in years. No one will even notice he’s gone.”

“Jihoon!” Seungkwan says sharply. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“What?” he shrugs. “I can relate. I’m not trying to disrespect him. I wasn’t even trying to do this—it just happened.”

He puts his hands on his knees, pressing down to try and feel any sense of reality. “This is insane.”

“But it’s real,” Jihoon insists. “Seungkwan—what if this is my second chance?”

They search the apartment, and it seems that Jihoon is right. The only names in his contacts are delivery places, and recording companies—no friends, no parents. They find music equipment, and a personal website open on a computer monitor, advertising his work as a freelance musician, somewhat known on the music scene.

“He’s really dead?” Seungkwan says, sitting on his cold sofa. It feels eerie, sitting in this dead man’s apartment.

“I can’t feel him,” Jihoon says. “He’s gone.”

“We should put up a memorial. Right? We can’t just carry on like nothing’s happened.”

“We can do that,” he agrees.

“Right,” Seungkwan says, standing up. “We’ll do that. For now, I’m going back to bed.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Seungkwan turns in the doorway to look at him. “Jihoon?”

“Yeah?”

He smiles, despite everything. “I’m glad you’re back.”

-

Jihoon knocks on his door the next morning, and it makes Seungkwan jolt. In the light of day, he can see Yoongi actually looks a little like Jihoon; he’s taller, and no perfect replica, but there’s a similarity. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“Seungkwan?”

“Jihoon?”

“Now that I’m—erm—alive? Again,” Jihoon coughs. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?”

“You want to go on a date?” Seungkwan asks, disbelieving. “On the first day of your second life?”

Jihoon nods. “I need to apologise, for before. When I was… ghosting you.”

“Ha, ha,” Seungkwan says, deadpan.

“No, really. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m really sorry.” He straightens up a little. “This is my second chance. I’m going to do everything right, this time—no more pushing people away. Will you join me?”

He smiles, puts his hand in Jihoon’s and uses it to pull him close. “Jihoon, I would be honoured.” He plants a kiss to the tip of his nose, and Jihoon’s face breaks out into a bright smile.

-

It takes some time, and a lot of adjusting, but eventually he acclimates to this new, living, breathing Jihoon. He continues to live in Yoongi’s apartment, and no one calls for him, no one knocks on his door besides the landlord. He’s completely cut off, and it’s almost too convenient; Seungkwan wonders if this is fate, intervening. Giving them the life they should’ve had.

Six months later, they’re walking along the bank of a river together, and Seungkwan realises he can see over the top of Jihoon’s head. He frowns.

“Jihoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you noticed that you’re looking more like yourself, lately? And less like Yoongi?”

Jihoon stops, turning to look at him with wide eyes. “You’ve noticed it too?”

“It’s happening, right? You’re becoming yourself?”

“Yes! I swear, I keep looking in the mirror and seeing more of myself every day.” He lets out a big breath. “This is some crazy shit. I know you’ve fought aliens and stuff, but you have to admit—aren’t I the weirdest person you’ve dated?”

He laughs, swinging their joined hands between them. “You’re certainly the most unique. And Mingyu wasn’t even human.”

“Mingyu’s got nothing on me,” Jihoon says, baring his teeth a delighted grin.

-

Six months after that, Jihoon moves back in with him. Seungkwan fails his second year, but he doesn’t really care—he knows he and Jihoon can manage together. Especially now that Jihoon can pay rent.

“You took down the crazy wall,” he says as soon as he walks in, putting his moving box on the side and looking at the bare white wall. The tack marks are the only evidence of what was once there.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan replies, shrugging. “It’s time to focus on you. Wouldn’t want to waste your second chance.”

“But all your research… all that time—”

“It’s not worth it,” Seungkwan says. “What’s the point of looking to the past when I have another life here? Any answers I find won’t stop me from coming back again, if I have more lives to lead.”

“You’re just going to give up? Just like that?”

“Is it giving up if I have you?” he asks, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. Jihoon flushes and walks over to his box, looking into it for something that must be important. Seungkwan smiles at that, and presses another kiss to his cheek before going back to make free space in his bedroom.

When their soulmate marks appear, Jihoon is giddy with excitement—the red chrysanthemum on his ankle is proof of his life, proof that he was right, all along. The sprig of lavender on Seungkwan’s ankle is proof that he still knows nothing about this whole reincarnation thing.

It doesn’t matter. Most importantly, it’s proof that he has Jihoon. That’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lavender: devotion & calmness
> 
> i love this pairing we deserve more boohoon fic ;_;


	8. KSY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): major injury, hospitals, nightmares

His manager calls him from the backroom, looking disgruntled. Finishing up serving the customer, he calls Sanha to take over on the till and walks into to the backroom to find out what he’s done wrong now.

She barely looks at him as she hands over the phone. “You have a call. Be quick.” She brushes past him to go back through to the front—they’re in the middle of the lunch rush, and he knows he’ll be on thin ice for disrupting their workflow. He’s more focused, however, on the phone he puts to his ear—he can’t think of anyone who would need to call him at his workplace in the middle of the day.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Boo Seungkwan?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m calling from the Namyangju General Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Kwon Soonyoung?”

His heart skips a beat. “Has something happened?”

“Emergency services were called to Mr. Kwon’s place of work earlier today after part of the roof collapsed in. He was trapped under the rubble for some time before our services could dig him out—he’s been in surgery since he was brought in.”

Seungkwan braces himself against the wall for support. The ceiling of Soonyoung’s dance studio collapsed in on him? And he’s still alive?

He swallows, trying to get saliva back into his mouth. “I’ll be right there.”

“Travel safely, Mr. Boo.”

Seungkwan nods, even though she can’t see him through the phone, and blindly hooks the phone back onto its stand. He turns to leave the backroom, taking his apron off as he does, mind numb and thoughts scattered.

“I have to go,” he calls to his manager. “Personal emergency.”

“What are you talking about?” she frowns, unhappy.

“Are you okay?” Sanha asks whilst taking money from a customer.

“Soonyoung—my flatmate, he’s at the hospital—” he says, trying to keep his thoughts on track so he can get the words out properly.

“You don’t need to be responsible for your flatmate—” his manager starts, but Sanha interrupts.

“You can take my car if you want, Hyung. It’ll be quicker.”

“Yes, okay, thank you,” he says, moving back into the backroom to dig into Sanha’s coat pockets.

“He’s just your flatmate!” his manager says, voice raised. “We can’t afford to lose someone else right now, Seungkwan!”

“He’s a bit more than a flatmate,” Sanha says as Seungkwan stalks back through the café, keys in hand. “Believe me, you’re not going to convince him to stay. Keep me updated, Hyung!” he calls when Seungkwan reaches the door.

Seungkwan gives him a gesture of affirmation as he steps outside, ignoring his manager’s angry spluttering and heading for Sanha’s car.

Once he gets to the hospital, he has to wait for several uncomfortable hours in a hospital chair, left only with his thoughts and anxieties. He can’t stop thinking about where Soonyoung must be right now, lying on some operating table, scalpels and knives and surgeons surrounding him and trying to save his life. He’ll make it out alive, he knows that. Soonyoung is the most headstrong person he’s ever met—he’ll stay alive out of pure force of will.

The question is how bad the damage will be.

After an eternity, a doctor calls his name and he jumps to his feet, attentive. “Is he okay?”

“Mr. Kwon is out of surgery and in a stable condition. He’s shown amazing resilience for the level of damage he’s suffered, and we think that, given time, he’ll make a full recovery.”

Seungkwan could cry, but instead lets out a strangled laugh. “That sounds like Soonyoung. Can I see him?”

“You can. He’s asleep, and he probably won’t wake up for a few hours at least, but I know you’ve been waiting to see him. I have to warn you—he’s pretty banged up.”

“It’s okay,” he says, taking a shaky breath in. He’s looked up to Soonyoung ever since they were children—followed him through life, looked to him for friendship, for guidance, for strength. This time, he’ll have to be the strong one. “I’m ready.”

The doctor leads him through a corridor to the intensive care unit. There are beds lining the noisy ward, patients talking or moaning or snoring all around them. The doctor steps into Soonyoung’s section, beckoning Seungkwan in and pulling the screen closed behind them.

He’s not sure any warning could’ve prepared him properly—his heart clenches painfully when he sees his Hyung lying on the bed, bandaged and bruised and still. Soonyoung has been injured plenty of times before, but never like this. He’s never seen him so still. There’s tubes and wires hooked into him in several places, heartbeat steady on the monitor, but he can barely see the rise and fall of his chest under the bandages covering every inch of him. Both legs are in heavy casts, elevated up from the bed, along with his left arm limp at his side. His right arm is purple with bruises, skin torn by cuts that climb up his shoulder, his neck, onto his face. They join the gash that runs down one side of his face, his newly crooked nose, the bust lip and tear in his ear.

The doctor is saying something about contusions, internal bleeding, potential head injuries—he can’t really follow it. He just stares at Soonyoung, tuning out the surrounding noise.

He stays by his side until visiting hours finish.

He drives Sanha’s car back to his apartment later that night. When he knocks on the door to give him his keys back, Sanha walks straight past his offering hand to bring him into a hug. Seungkwan, of course, immediately bursts into tears. Sanha carefully walks them into the apartment, shutting the front door behind them and sitting him on the sofa, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s that bad?” he asks, tentatively.

“It’s so bad, Sanha,” he says tearfully. “You should’ve seen him. There’s not an inch of him that isn’t broken or bruised or bloody—the doctors were surprised he survived surgery. He should’ve died.”

“But he’s stable now?”

“They say he is—he’s in intensive care, but he should wake up tomorrow.”

“He’s going to be fine. This is Soonyoung we’re talking about. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.” Sanha lets out half a laugh, stroking Seungkwan’s back gently.

He nods mutely, wiping at his eyes. “God, he’s going to hate recovery. He can’t sit still on a normal day.”

“But he has you,” Sanha says kindly. “You guys always have each other.”

“Right. We do. I’m going to have to talk to work about changing my hours so I can go and visit him as much as I can.”

Sanha settles him with hands on his shoulders. “It’s going to be tough, Hyung. I’ll come and visit him whenever I have the chance, too. You know you can always rely on me, right?”

He nods and leans in to hug him again, clutching onto him gratefully. “Of course. Thank you, Sanha.”

-

Soonyoung is awake when Seungkwan arrives the next day. He’s confused, and his speech is slow—the result of a depressed skull fracture, the doctor says—but he’s there. When Seungkwan rounds the screen to see him, Soonyoung blinks at him a few times, trying to focus. Then, amazingly, he smiles—his gums are swollen where a tooth was knocked out, and his cheeks are flushed, and he can’t smile wide, lest it pull out the stitches in his face. Still, the sight fills Seungkwan with relief. Soonyoung is alive. He’s still here, still smiling.

“Hi, Hyung,” he says, taking a seat in the visitor’s chair.

“Y’came!” Soonyoung slurs, watching him as best he can without moving his head. Seungkwan shuffles the chair down the side of the bed to make it easier on him.

“Of course,” he smiles, willing himself not to cry. “Where else would I be?”

“Thought m’ might scare y’way,” he says, breath raspy. “’M’I still pretty?”

“Your stupid dance studio roof fell in on you and you’re concerned if you’re still pretty?” he chokes out, water welling up in his eyes.

“’S’all I’ve got goin for me,” Soonyoung says, eyelids fluttering.

“Yeah, Hyung,” he says, gingerly putting a hand over his arm cast on the bed. “You’re pretty as ever.”

He’s not sure if Soonyoung hears it, as he just lets out a little puff of air, eyes closing. Seungkwan sits in silence for a while, watching him breathe shallowly.

“That’s the most he’s spoken since he woke up, you know,” a voice says behind him, and he almost jumps out of his seat to face the nurse standing at the screen. “He must have tired himself out.”

“Is it really?”

“He asked what had happened, and stayed quiet while we explained. Then he asked for Seungkwan—if you knew, if you’d come. But that conversation was the first display of personality I’ve seen from him. It’s relieving to know he still has it; head trauma can take it out of some people.”

Seungkwan runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “He’s looking after me—trying to make me feel better about the fact that he’s a wreck.” He shakes his head at the peacefully sleeping Soonyoung. "Idiot.”

“Is he someone special to you?”

He nods. “We grew up in foster care together, and we still live together now. We’re very close—we only have each other, really.”

The nurse smiles kindly at him. “Then I’m sure he appreciates you visiting. Even if he is asleep.”

-

Soonyoung goes in for further surgery a few days later, to sort out his skull fracture. He comes out brighter, clearer of mind and more attentive—he starts making friends with his nurses and doctors, can hold longer conversations on Seungkwan’s visits, learns the names of the other patients on the ward with him. They keep it light, focus on his recovery—but they can’t put off the inevitable forever.

“I come bearing news,” he says one day, as he sits by Soonyoung’s bed. He’d been moved out of the intensive care unit the day before, which was a relief to them both. They’d been told by doctors that Soonyoung is healing exceptionally well, but this move is a real, positive sign of his progress.

“Good news?”

“Depends. Minnie is coming in to see you today.”

“Urgh,” Soonyoung groans, waving his good hand around in protest. Seungkwan has long since given up trying to stop him doing that—it’s the only real movement he can get away with, laid up in bed every day. “Why does she need to come and see me? She’ll only want to tell me I’ve been stupid, or something.”

“Because she’s your social worker, Hyung. It’s her job. It’s taken her long enough as it is—you’ve been here nearly two weeks already.”

“She doesn’t need to. I’m fine. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

“You can’t put this off forever. We need to talk about the accident sometime—about your studio, about what you’re going to do next. You know, I spoke to your doctor on my way in today. He wants to keep you here for another six to eight weeks so they can observe you during physical therapy, and he thinks you won’t be able to dance for another eight to ten months, minimum. Minnie needs to know all this so you can get the right support.”

Soonyoung lies still, looking at him. “Eight to ten months?”

“Yeah. ’m sorry, Hyung. It’s shitty.”

For the first time since the accident, Soonyoung looks defeated. He looks away from Seungkwan, but he can’t go very far—can’t hide the shiny tear that works its way out of his black eye and rolls down his face. Seungkwan, very gently, wipes it away.

“Oh, please don’t cry! I know it’s bad—it really sucks. But you will be able to dance again, eventually. Focus on that.”

Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut as more tears slide down his face. “I hate being here, Seungkwannie. I can’t do it for another eight weeks—I feel like I’ve been here forever. I don’t want to do it.”

“I’m sorry, you have no choice—you need to stay here to get better. Your recovery is the most important thing! You know that, right?”

“I’m not going to recover mentally if I stay here,” Soonyoung says, voice low and eyes dark. “I’m going to lose my mind. The nurse said I can go home within a week if I have a parent or spouse who can take full time care of me—I’ll get Minnie to talk to them, because that’s bullshit for those of us who have never had family.”

“Minnie will do what now?” Minnie says, from where she appears at the ward doorway, making a beeline for Soonyoung’s bed.

Seungkwan stands to give her a hug, though Soonyoung doesn’t slow down to greet her. “Can you ask my doctor to let me go home and come back in for the physical therapy? I don’t need to start it until the casts come off—another four weeks, there’s absolutely no point me being here until then, I’m going to go crazy—”

“Hello to you too, Soonyoung. You look like a wreck.”

Soonyoung pouts. “Seungkwannie told me I look pretty.”

“Like a pretty wreck,” Seungkwan confirms.

Minnie sends him a judging look before turning to Soonyoung. “They’re not going to let you go home if you don’t have someone who can take care of you.”

“I have Seungkwannie.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Can’t you get emergency paid leave for things like this?”

Minnie sighs, placing her bag down and taking the other visitor’s chair. “If he was your soulmate, then yes. But you’re only flatmates—that’s not good enough for the hospital, and it won’t be a good enough reason for Seungkwan’s workplace to grant him paid leave either.”

“Can’t you tell them you’re my boyfriend?” Soonyoung asks.

“Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned that before now if that were true?” Seungkwan says. “They’ll see right through us.”

“Since you don’t have soulmate marks, I doubt they’d allow it, anyway,” Minnie says. “I can try and talk to them about it, but don’t hope for much.”

“If they say no, tell them they’re being discriminatory against orphans.”

Minnie sends him a look.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Seungkwan says.

She sighs. “I’ll try. Let’s talk about you, first. I’m here to tell you what we can offer you in terms of support. There’s a benefit you can have, as you were self-employed but now unable to work. I need to come and see you once every ten days, to check you’re doing okay—you’re too old to come back into care, but we can send you a companion volunteer if you need extra company while you’re in hospital. Then there’s the matter of your studio—I’m in talks with your insurance company. It looks like you’ll get a pay-out, as the building you were renting out as a studio was unsafe, and should’ve been condemned. The accident wasn’t your fault, so you’ll get coverage. It might take a while to be processed, but we expect it’ll be a sizable amount.”

“Great,” Soonyoung says. “Seungkwannie, do you want to get married?”

He chokes. “Do I what?”

“Did you even listen to me?” Minnie asks, exasperated.

“If we get married, they’ll have to let you take me home. All we need is a marriage licence and a priest, right? And witnesses, or something? We can do all that from a hospital—please, Seungkwannie, I’m desperate to get out of here, I’ll go crazy if I’m here for another eight weeks—”

“I think you’re already crazy,” Minnie says, deadpan.

“But if we do that, we’ll be married!” Seungkwan exclaims. “How are you going to explain that to your future soulmate?”

“We’ll just get a divorce when I’m better,” Soonyoung says, waving his good hand again. “Here, pass me my phone—I’ll research it. We could get married before the end of the week!”

-

Sanha and Minnie agree to be witnesses, and it makes a strange little ceremony, the four of them crammed around Soonyoung’s bed. The officiant doesn’t seem phased by the circumstances, reading out the marriage rites in a monotone voice while Seungkwan stands at Soonyoung’s side, loosely holding his good hand. Sanha watches with an air of confusion.

"So how long have you been together?” he’d asked on their way to Soonyoung’s room.

“We haven’t,” Seungkwan had replied. “We’re getting married for legal reasons.”

Minnie watches the whole thing with an air of defeat, staring at a spot on the white hospital wall. The patients in the beds around Soonyoung’s watch them with curiosity, peering around the witnesses to see the ceremony.

“Kwon Soonyoung and Boo Seungkwan, have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”

“I have,” Soonyoung says confidently.

“Yes,” Seungkwan says, less confidently.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?”

“I am,” Soonyoung replies, smiling up at Seungkwan.

“Uh-huh,” Seungkwan says, going warm in the cheeks. Is this illegal? He feels like what they’re doing is immoral, at the very least.

“Please say your vows,” the officiant says, looking half asleep.

Soonyoung clasps onto his sweaty hand and looks up at him. “I, Kwon Soonyoung, take you, Boo Seungkwan, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

He swallows. “I, Boo Seungkwan, take you, Kwon Soonyoung, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

“Do you take the other as your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, to love and honour him all the days of your life?”

“I do,” Soonyoung says.

“I do,” Seungkwan echoes.

“Then you may kiss you groom,” the officiant says, closing his book and looking at them expectantly. Right. This must be all that’s left, then.

Seungkwan leans down to get on Soonyoung’s level, propped up against his pillows, and goes in to peck his cheek. At the last second, Soonyoung turns his head, and their lips meet in a quick, chaste kiss. He jolts, electricity running up his spine at the surprise of it. They meet eyes, then look away quickly towards the clapping and cheering patients in the room, including an enthusiastic Sanha and a tired Minnie.

“Thank you, thank you!” Soonyoung says, raising his hand as if addressing fans. Then he leans in close to Minnie, beckoning her to him. “Can you ask if I’m allowed to leave, now?”

-

They discharge him the next week, with firm instructions not to try walking or doing anything serious on his own, to come back in for physical therapy in three weeks’ time, to stay in bed and rest up until his casts can come off. Seungkwan pushes him out of the hospital in a wheelchair, and between himself and Sanha they manage to lift him into Sanha’s backseat, folding up the wheelchair and shoving that in after him.

“So, work agreed to give you paid leave?” Sanha asks. Seungkwan notices he’s driving especially carefully today, as if having Soonyoung in the backseat makes the car more fragile, more precious.

“They had to—it’s my legal right if my spouse needs urgent care. It’s not a whole lot of money, but between that and Soonyoung’s benefits, we should be okay until his insurance coverage comes in.”

“So as long as you’re married, you’re allowed to be off for the next few months? For Soonyoung?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should stay married, Seungkwannie,” Soonyoung says from the back. “It seems like a handy fallback.”

“You’re going to want to get married for real one day, Hyung.”

“You’re allowed to get married to more than one person these days, Seungkwannie.”

“Still. We had to pay an extra fee because we don’t have soulmate marks. It’s a hobby that’ll get expensive.”

“The system is such bullshit. You must have this to leave hospital, you must have that to get married. I tried to tell my nurse we’re not just roommates, but no one seems to get it. It’s hard to explain.”

Seungkwan hums a noise of agreement. “Same. Best friend doesn’t seem a good enough term, and doesn’t exactly pass hospital regulations. We’re not brothers in the legal sense, either.”

“You’ve never considered being… boyfriends?” Sanha asks.

“No,” they say, in unison.

“Okay,” Sanha says, putting one hand up in defeat. “I’ll leave you two to ponder on that, then.” The car pulls to a stop, and he realises they’ve arrived at their apartment.

This time he walks around to Soonyoung’s car door and scoops him up, arms under his butt to lift him, and lowers him into the wheelchair. It’s more efficient than awkwardly trying to support him out when he can’t put any weight on his legs, even if it does mean he gets a noseful of the hospital-standard shampoo smell from his hair.

Sanha wheels him this time, as Seungkwan leads them through the building to the elevator. Soonyoung looks genuinely happy to be here, in their dingy little apartment building. The smile on his face is the first real one he’s seen in a while; it makes all the effort getting him out of hospital worth it.

“Thanks for all your help, Sanha,” Seungkwan says as they reach their apartment door.

“It’s no problem. I’m happy to help you guys.”

“Seriously, I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

“Anytime. If you need help with anything, just hit me up—I can pick you up to get some groceries tomorrow, if you’d like? I need to go myself.”

“That would be amazing,” Seungkwan sighs. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, thanks, Sanha,” Soonyoung says as Seungkwan holds him in a hug. “You’re a good friend.”

“I’m going to go now, so that you guys can stop thanking me,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder. “I’ll come by tomorrow after my shift!”

“Sure thing,” Seungkwan smiles. “See you!”

“Bye!”

Seungkwan pushes Soonyoung’s wheelchair through the door to their dark apartment. He wishes he’d had the foresight to clean up before today, but it’s been a stressful few weeks—any time he could spend at the hospital, he did, not wanting to leave Soonyoung on his own for too long.

It’s not like Soonyoung really cares about the mess. “Hello, home!” he shouts into the apartment. “I’ve missed you!”

“Okay, what’s first on the agenda?” Seungkwan asks, slipping into responsible adult mode. If this is going to be his life for the next few months, he might as well get started now. “Are you hungry, sleepy, what?”

“I’d kill for a proper bath,” Soonyoung says. “At the hospital they just scrub me down with this foul-smelling soap—God, I want my coconut and vanilla shampoo back.”

“Alright, bath it is.” He wheels him through their apartment, shoves the wheelchair through the bathroom door, and rests Soonyoung by the taps so that he can get the water to a temperature he likes. “You run that—I’ll see what food we have in.”

It’s not a whole lot. He throws a few packets of ramen into a pot and leaves it to boil. When he comes back to the bathroom, Soonyoung is struggling to get his trousers off with one hand, shirt already on the floor.

“Hey! We’ve been home for two seconds and you’re already violating doctor’s orders?” Seungkwan scolds, taking hold of his waistband and pulling the trousers down properly.

“What?” Soonyoung asks, defensively. “I’m just getting undressed!”

“You’re supposed to let me do everything short of blowing your nose, Hyung. Actually, I might need to do that too. Can you blow your nose with one hand?”

“I can undress myself!” he protests.

“Actually, you can’t,” he says, gesturing to where Soonyoung has managed to get only one butt cheek out of his boxers. “You have two cracked ribs—I’m surprised you got that shirt off at all. Are you going to stick to the deal, or do I need to call Minnie and tell her you need to be put back in hospital? Your doctor would be happy to have you back.”

“Fine,” Soonyoung grumbles, moving to turn the taps off. “What now, then?”

Seungkwan grabs his boxers, sliding them off him in one go. Well, mostly one go. The casts are pretty bulky. Soonyoung goes faintly pink, even though casual nudity is an established part of their relationship—undressing each other, less so.

“You didn’t think very far ahead about this coming home business, did you? This is your everyday life for the near future, buddy. You’d better get used to it.” He leans down to pick Soonyoung up, one arm under his legs and the other at his back. For a second he thinks he won’t be able to lift him—then he comes up out of the chair, and Seungkwan shuffles over to the bath, carefully depositing him in the water, getting his arms soaked to the shoulder in the process. Soonyoung settles under the water with a sigh, propping his leg casts up at the end of the tub.

“Worth it for this,” he sighs. “Hey, could you put in the bubbles?”

“You’re a child,” Seungkwan says, before complying, squirting in the bath liquid. “Sit still for a minute, and I’ll wash your hair.” He grabs the shower head from the wall along with the bottle of the coveted coconut and vanilla shampoo.

“Yes!” Soonyoung says, gleefully. “My shampoo!”

“I said sit still!” Seungkwan scolds, sitting in the wheelchair so he can angle himself next to him. “It’ll be your fault if you get shampoo in your eyes!”

He turns on the spray to get Soonyoung’s hair damp, then puts the shower head down in the bath to squeeze a dollop of shampoo onto his head. He massages the shampoo into his scalp carefully, mindful of the gash that reaches up to his hairline, swiping the foam away when it starts to trickle down his forehead towards his eyes. He works the shampoo into his hair for a little longer than necessary;it’s unreasonably relaxing, feeling Soonyoung so pliant and firm beneath his hands. It’s been hard to touch him, the past few weeks—he’s been afraid of touching an injury, of pushing at a bruise, of making something worse. This, though, making Soonyoung feel better after weeks without washing himself how he likes it; it’s like something he can do without any anxiety. Like he’s doing something wholly good, after weeks of suffering for the both of them. He relishes in the feel of Soonyoung’s hair running between his fingers, the other boy quiet and relaxed at Seungkwan’s touch.

“Tilt your head back,” he says gently, picking up the shower head again. Soonyoung complies and Seungkwan angles the water spray at him, rinsing out the shampoo.

“Feels nice,” he says, sounding a little drowsy. Maybe bed after this, then.

“Good,” Seungkwan says. “Ready for conditioner?”

Soonyoung sniffs. “Do you smell that?”

“What?” Seungkwan says, sniffing the air. All he can smell is the shampoo on his hands.

“Burning?”

He drops the shower head in a start, leaping up. “Fuck! My ramen!”

-

The two of them do their best with the situation they have. Soonyoung isn’t supposed to do much moving if he can help it, but Seungkwan has always been weak to him, and they compromise with a trip outside once a week. Seungkwan wheels his chair down to the park and they walk around, watch the kids playing or the ducks swimming. He’s the most relaxed during those few hours, greedily taking in the fresh air and greenery around them. Sanha takes Seungkwan grocery shopping once a week, too, and they binge an ungodly amount of TV together to pass the rest of their time. Soonyoung is still frustrated and antsy, getting impatient with his own body when he can’t open a packet of food or type a text properly, or go to the toilet without help. But they’re doing their best.

It takes ten days of being home for him to realise the real extent of Soonyoung’s restlessness. Seungkwan is usually a heavy sleeper, so when he’s awoken in the middle of the night and can’t pinpoint why, its makes him uneasy.

He sits up in his bed warily. Had Soonyoung called for him? He’s on medication to help him sleep through any pain he has, but once or twice he’d texted Seungkwan in the night, asking for water or help getting to the toilet, bleary eyed and clingy. He checks his notifications—nothing. To be sure, he slips out of his bed and walks down the short corridor to Soonyoung’s room, pushing open the bedroom door carefully, quietly. He’s met with the sight of Soonyoung curled up in a ball under his covers, shaking like a leaf. He squints up into the light coming in through the open door, and his eyes are red, skin blotchy.

“Hyung!” Seungkwan breathes, covering the space between the door and the bed in a few quick steps. He’s by Soonyoung’s side in seconds, cupping his face in his hands. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Soonyoung shakes his head miserably, burying his head in Seungkwan’s chest and clutching his shirt with his good hand. “Bad dream.”

“Oh, Hyung,” he says, planting a kiss to his hair and cradling his head. He climbs over Soonyoung carefully, settling into the bed on his other side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Soonyoung settles down a little, nestling his head into Seungkwan’s chest. “Keep having them,” he says, and hot air from his mouth heats up a patch on his shirt. “The roof falling in. Being stuck in a dark place—can’t move, can’t shout for you. I wake up and it’s still dark and I still can’t breathe. I call for you, then I feel stupid.” He takes in a wobbly breath. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

Seungkwan snakes a hand around Soonyoung’s back, pulling him closer. “It’s not stupid. Please don’t be afraid to call for me. Next time we go in, we’ll tell the doctor about your dreams, okay?”

Soonyoung shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s really not. They might be able to help you. We’re trying to heal all of you, Hyungie, not just your body. It’s okay to feel bad. You always have me, you know? To make you feel better.”

Soonyoung bunches Seungkwan’s shirt in his fist, swallowing. “Seungkwan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I’m alive. Didn’t want to leave you.”

He blinks back the sting in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re alive too, Hyung. But don’t think about that now. We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. “We’re okay.”

When he wakes up the next day, Soonyoung is still fast asleep, and Seungkwan watches him for a while. His face is slack and peaceful and so different to his expression from the night before, and it soothes him. Gently, he eases himself out of his arms to go and shower, taking the opportunity to look after himself while Soonyoung is out of it.

He steps into the shower distracted, thinking about last night. He’d been scared by Soonyoung’s outburst, and but more scared by the fact that Soonyoung had called for him before, and he hadn’t heard. He’ll start sleeping in Soonyoung’s bed, he thinks—it’s more efficient, will stop him from worrying. It’s easily big enough for them both anyway. He goes to pick up his bodywash, only for it to slip through his wet hands onto the shower floor. Cursing, he bends down to pick it up, but is stopped by the sight of a yellow flower printed onto his left leg, just below the knee.

“Woah!” he cries out, reeling back. The quick movement makes him lose his footing on the slippery shower floor, and he lands hard on his butt, whacking his head on the shower wall as he lands. Pain blossoms in the back of his head, and he puts his hands up to the back of his skull, clutching it and waiting for the throbbing to subside.

“Seungkwannie?” Soonyoung’s rough morning voice calls through the apartment. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” he calls back, strangled. He clears his throat and tries again, opening his eyes. “I’m fine!”

He moves his hands from his head to the skin on his left leg, circling the yellow flower that smiles up at him, tall and proud. He scrubs at it a few times, as if that will do any good—it stays perfectly intact, stubbornly pretty and shining with water.

He puts his head in his hands. This isn’t supposed to happen; he and Soonyoung aren’t together. They’ve always made that clear. They’re close, sure—they’ve rarely ever been apart, for as long as he can remember. But the kiss, the wedding—they didn’t mean anything. Right? Soonyoung had wanted to get married as an excuse, a loop in the system—there wasn’t anything like that between them.

He loves Soonyoung more than anyone in the world. The kiss had felt nice. But it’s not like that, between them.

“Where are you?” Soonyoung calls again.

“I’m just coming!” he shouts back, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

There’s no one else it could belong to, though. It could only ever be Soonyoung.

-

He takes Soonyoung to a check-up appointment and prompts him to talk about his dreams; takes him to a store to buy fairy lights for his room, to keep away the night-time fear; buys him a new video game to keep him occupied. In the week and a half before Soonyoung is due to have his casts taken off, he tries shoving the mark to the back of his mind, trying to ignore the warmth of Soonyoung’s body when they share a bed, trying to ignore the press of his weight on his side when they’re watching movies, trying to ignore the hand holding and sweet words that come with being in Soonyoung’s general vicinity. They’re not like that, but he already knows what will lie underneath the leg cast—the red chrysanthemum that’s appeared in his dreams since he was seventeen years old, in a matching position to the flower on his own leg.

In the early hours of the morning, exhausted with the effort suppression, he gives in and researches the meaning of Soonyoung’s flower. He identifies it as a yellow gladiolus flower, which symbolises strength of character, passion, and cheerfulness. If he’d had any doubts that this flower belongs to Soonyoung, that explanation would’ve decimated them.

He turns on the bedside lamp to a low setting, sticking his leg out to look at the mark again, running his fingers over the smooth skin. It’s a beautiful flower, fitting for someone like Soonyoung. He knows he needs to tell him—he’ll find it in a few days, anyway. But it’s hard, when the marks aren’t supposed to be here. When telling him about the marks is like a confession he’d never thought he’d have to make.

“Seungkwan?” Soonyoung says, causing him to almost fall out of the bed.

“Shit, sorry!” he says, clutching at his heart. “I thought you were asleep. I couldn’t sleep, so I was just… I’ll turn the light off—"

“You have a mark?” Soonyoung says, in a small voice, eyes on the flower. Seungkwan freezes, hand hovering over the lamp switch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Seungkwan slowly moves away from the lamp, turning to look at Soonyoung face-on. “I’m sorry, Hyung. I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“How long?” he asks, expression one of stunned disbelief.

“It only appeared a week ago, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. It’s not easy to bring up, considering—”

“No, I mean how long have you been dating,” Soonyoung says, struggling to sit up against the headboard. Seungkwan automatically extends his hands to help support him. “It’s Sanha’s, right? I thought you guys might be dating, but I was waiting for you to bring it up—”

“Sanha’s?” he asks, baffled. “Why would it be Sanha’s?”

“You don’t have to lie to me!” Soonyoung says, voice raised. “You guys have been really close since you met! He helped you get that deli job, you two are always going out together, he was with you half the time you visited me in hospital, I’m not stupid—”

“Hyung, he’s just my friend! I would’ve told you if we were dating!”

“Would you?” Soonyoung challenges, voice tight. “Before the accident, it was like we never saw each other. I would come home, and you would either be out with Sanha, or he would be here.”

“Because you were spending every minute of your damn life in that studio! If I didn’t spend time with him, I would be sat on my own in our empty apartment until I went to bed, you can’t blame me for having a friend who isn’t you—"

“If he’s not your boyfriend, then who does the mark belong to?”

“You!” Seungkwan cries, fighting back tears. “It’s obviously yours!”

Soonyoung looks at him, mouth open. Silence hangs heavy in the air for a few moments. “What?”

He tosses over his phone, still open on the soulmate marks encyclopaedia. “The yellow gladiolus; cheerfulness, compassion, sincerity. Even before I’d read that, I knew it was you. I have no doubt in my mind you’re going to have my flower under your cast.”

Soonyoung blinks at the artificial light of the phone, then lowers it steadily, staring at the cast clamped to his leg. “But… we’re not like that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Seungkwan says, voice humourless. “But then again, I love you more than I love anyone in the world. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We’re even married. Maybe we are like that, after all. Maybe it’s enough for a mark.”

Soonyoung looks up at him. “I really thought you were dating Sanha. That’s why I would always stay at my studio—I was trying to give you space.”

He looks back with utter disbelief. “You’re an idiot,” he tells him firmly. “Sanha is a good friend, but I would never want to sacrifice our relationship for him. Don’t do stupid shit like that again without telling me first, okay?”

He nods, dazed. “Do you really think that’s my flower?”

“Yeah. It even looks like you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? It’s a flower.”

“I know. The likeness is striking.”

“So we’re soulmates?”

“Yeah, I guess so. That, or the stray cat on our street has my soulmate mark.”

“Seungkwan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

His breath hitches. “For real this time?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, please.”

The kiss tastes of toothpaste and iron from the cut in Soonyoung’s lip, but it leaves him feeling warm in every part of his body. There are tingles in his chest and the tips of his fingers and in his thigh, where Soonyoung rests his good hand to lean in and kiss him. When they part, Soonyoung looks at him with wet eyelashes.

Seungkwan brings a hand up to cup his cheek. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Beats me,” he says, before leaning in again, kissing Seungkwan firmly.

-

The doctor takes Soonyoung’s bulky casts off just to replace them with a thick layer of bandages on each leg and a sling for his arm, but his limbs are freed for long enough that they can clearly see the red chrysanthemum, standing stark against Soonyoung’s pale, sun-deprived skin. Soonyoung breaks out into a beaming smile when he sees it, squeezing Seungkwan’s hand and giggling, demanding a kiss in celebration. Seungkwan is a little embarrassed to be complying to PDA in front of the doctor, but it’s not like he has the strength to deny Soonyoung of what he wants.

It’s not like much has changed between them—their dynamic is the same, only a little more physical. Soonyoung has taken his full liberty to ask for kisses whenever he can, to be clingier and more affectionate than ever. Seungkwan can’t say he minds it.

“Congratulations!” the doctor says, as he winds the bandage over the flower. “It must be a relief to have your marks appear, considering you’re already married.”

“Yes!” Soonyoung says, smiling brightly. “It just made our honeymoon that much sweeter.”

“Please be quiet,” Seungkwan says, feeling himself going pink in the face.

“You got married recently?” the doctor asks.

“Right before I got released. I nearly died, and it made me realise how precious life is,” Soonyoung says. “Needed to keep him close.” He says the last part unexpectedly softly, and it makes Seungkwan look at him.

“That’s lovely,” the doctor says. “I’m glad you have each other.”

“Me too,” Soonyoung says, placing a kiss to the back of Seungkwan’s hand.

“Now, there’s some exercises you’re going to have to do, four times a day, to bring the strength back into your arm and legs. You go up to the more intense ones every day, and after another week, you can try to start walking—with our professionals at first, then once or twice a day at home, just to keep up the practise. You’re a physically healthy person, so your body should adapt well as long as you stick to the routine.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Soonyoung says, reaching out to shake his hand. “You’ve helped me so much.”

The doctor smiles. “It’s my job, Soonyoung. It’s great to see you doing so well. While you’re here, shall we talk about the medication you’re on?”

-

“Keep your leg in the air,” Seungkwan orders. “Another fifteen seconds.”

“Urgh,” Soonyoung groans. “It aches.”

“That means you’re doing it right,” he says briskly. “Twelve, eleven, ten—”

They’re interrupted by the sound of Soonyoung’s obnoxious ringtone. “Aha! Let me just—”

“No!” he says, snatching up the phone. “Keep it up! It’s only Minnie, I’ll answer.”

“Hey! This is a violation of my rights!” Soonyoung complains as Seungkwan hits the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Seungkwannie—keep an eye on Soonyoung’s bank account over the next week. His insurance pay-out is due to drop anytime. It might be in there now.”

“Really? You sorted it?”

“It’s all done. Happy spending.” She cuts the line in typical Minnie fashion, too busy for an actual conversation with them, but still helpful in all the important ways.

“What is it?” Soonyoung says, finally dropping his leg back onto the bed.

“Your insurance—do you have mobile banking?” he asks eagerly, giving his phone back to him.

“Yeah—hang on.” Seungkwan puts the exercise leaflet down and moves to sit by Soonyoung on the bed. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is it there? Is it a lot?”

“Oh, yeah—God, this is more than enough to cover replacing my studio—”

“In a better building, I hope,” Seungkwan interjects.

“And give us a proper honeymoon!” Soonyoung finishes. They both look at each other.

“A honeymoon? We didn’t even have a proper ceremony.”

“We can have one of those too, if you want it.”

Seungkwan sits up straighter. “Hyung, when you asked me to marry you—was it serious? I thought you just wanted to escape the hospital.”

Soonyoung shifts, blinks a few times. “Kind of both?” he admits. “After I woke up, I kept thinking about you. They told me I could’ve died. That, by all accounts, I should’ve died. I thought a lot about how short life is, and how I never want to leave you, and how I’d never have forgiven myself I’d died and left you alone. I really did need to get out of that hospital, and I asked you for that reason. I was still trying to work out if you were dating Sanha, after all. I really liked the idea of marrying you properly, though. Of being with you, in sickness and in health. I knew it didn’t mean that to you, but it still gave me strength. Made me feel like I could have you close.”

“You can. You always have me,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to Soonyoung’s forehead. “You should’ve told me you were feeling like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry for marrying you without full disclosure.”

“It’s okay. That was a crazy two weeks. Let’s do it properly next time, yeah?”

“You want a ceremony?”

“The full thing—flowers, a buffet, a dancefloor. Let’s make Minnie do a speech for us.”

“Oh, she’d love that.”

“Right? It would be perfect.”

“Then let’s go abroad for a honeymoon—Osaka, or L.A., or London. Do the real thing together.”

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s nothing I would like better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gladiolus flower: passion & strength
> 
> apologies to anyone with real medical/hospital knowledge i know nothing but what google taught me
> 
> also lmk if you liked this au cause honestly? it could've been twice as long, i was trying to keep all the chapters around the same length (6-8k) but i may consider writing an extended version of this one because so much is left only referenced or implied in their story


	9. HJS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): homophobia, internalised homophobia, conditioned thinking, discussions of execution/death, general tyrannical shit associated with north korea

“Hyunwoo must be lying,” he says, doubtful. “Why would they hire a teacher only a few years older than us? A teacher needs more than high school qualifications!”

“He speaks English and Korean fluently. What else do you need to teach English?” Changkyun argues as they navigate the halls to their next class.

Seungkwan splutters. “You need to be able to teach the right vocabulary for the level of your students! You need to be able to explain grammar, and tenses, and the classifications of words; how will he do that if he’s barely out of high school himself?”

“He’s here to fill in for Teacher Lee, so maybe he’s only here for a short while, until she can come back,” Changkyun says, and that makes them both grow quiet, because they know what’s left unspoken. Teachers never have long sick leave. It’s code for: they’re never coming back, and you shouldn’t ask questions about it.

“I guess we’ll see now,” Seungkwan says, pushing open their English classroom door.

They enter and settle down with the rest of the class, getting out their books and falling quiet as everyone takes their seats. When the new teacher walks in, he looks to be in his fourties; he grins over at Changkyun, who just shrugs, as if he can’t be held responsible for Hyunwoo’s lies.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” their new teacher says, greeting the room.

“Good afternoon, teacher,” the students drone back in uniform.

“My name is Mr. Hong,” he says in English. He continues to talk after that, but it’s still in English, so Seungkwan doesn’t really understand any of it. He gestures to the boy sat at the desk in front of Seungkwan, who stands and bows to the class, then introduces himself in Korean.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Joshua, I’m your teacher’s son. I’m fluent in English, so I’m in this class as an assistant, and you can come to me for help if you need it.” His voice is light and smooth, like he’s talking to a frightened child and not a room full of boys the same age as him. “He’s handing out a test now to gauge your English ability.” Mr. Hong says something more in English, and Joshua speaks again, presumably translating. “Write every answer in English, including your name, written in the English alphabet. You should not talk to each other while you do this.”

Mr. Hong walks between the desks, handing out the tests, and Seungkwan looks down at his own nervously. He’s never been very good at English; he’s good in Korean classes, or in History, or even Business. But for some reason, he’s always found foreign languages impossible.

All the questions are in English, and they get harder as he reads down. Towards the bottom of the page, can only make out the odd word, struggling to put together any sort of sentence. Everyone around him is writing already, though, so he might as well try to put some answers down. He manages the first question— _What is your name?—_ carefully spelling _Seungkwan_ in English characters. _How old are you?_ is alright, too ( _sixteen_ ). This is the sort of thing they teach lower down in school, the bare basics he could grasp onto. The next question ( _What do you like to do?)_ he can’t quite understand, unsure if it’s about his hobbies or what job he wants when he’s older. He thinks about it, and decides asking about jobs would be a pointless question—anyone in Pyongyang Boys Boarding School is destined to follow in their father’s footsteps, into politics or business. He doesn’t want to write _singing_ down as a hobby though, because he knows it’s silly to pursue singing seriously. He’s in the school choir, but he hasn’t a clue how to write that in English. Eventually he gives up and writes _fun_.

The next question he can’t quite understand either, but the answer is a multiple choice, to his relief. _North Korea, United States of America, South Korea, China, Japan, East Korea_. He wildly hopes the question is asking for his country, and ticks _North Korea_.

He’s only halfway through his test when Changkyun finishes his own, folding it over and lounging back in his chair. No one likes to seem stupid, so following in his lead some other students start to finish too, placing their tests in front of them. Seungkwan panics and scribbles down anything he can think of for the last few questions, but he’s still one of the last to finish. He can tell Joshua is half turned around to watch him, which makes him stress more, knowing this fluent boy can probably see all his stupid answers.

Mr Hong begins talking again as he gathers up the test results. Seungkwan tries to focus, but the English words just wash over him, his mind still on the test. He always tries hard to bring good school grades home to his family, and though it’s not always possible to be best in the class, he definitely doesn’t want to be last place either.

“He’s handing out the homework assignments,” Joshua whispers to him, and it startles Seungkwan out of his thoughts.

“Oh, thank you,” he says, and Joshua smiles at him.

He’s handed the assignment and the class is dismissed, everyone standing and gathering up their books.

“Hey, if you want to study together, we could help each other out. I think I’m going to need some help with History,” Joshua says to him as they’re packing up. Seungkwan looks up at the other boy and flushes a little; is it that obvious how bad he is? “My dad was going to set me up with some tutorial sessions with the lower grade students anyway, so if you like I can help you until he’s marked the tests.”

“Oh, yes, okay,” he says, though he doubts Joshua can be as bad at History as he is at English. “Shall we meet in the library tonight?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

“See you,” Seungkwan smiles, anxious to get out to his next class before he’s given a late mark.

-

He arrives at the library that evening, clutching at his English homework and looking around for Joshua. There’s no sign of him yet, so he takes one of the studying tables and tries to start reading it on his own. Joshua joins him a couple of minutes later, looking ruffled. “Sorry I’m late. This is my first day, so I’m trying to get used to the new building.”

“That’s okay,” Seungkwan says. “I’m glad you’re here, though; I really can’t understand the task.”

Joshua takes a seat at the table to take a closer look at the work. “It’s a missing word task; you have to write the word you think should go in the sentence.”

“How can I do that when I can’t even read the sentences?” Seungkwan asks, one hand clutching at his hair in despair.

“Here, I can give you some essential words to get you started,” Joshua says, pulling open his notebook and starting to write some short English words. Next to them he writes the Korean; How, When, I, You, Always, Never, Must, Can’t. Seungkwan looks between Joshua’s list and the homework and manages to recognise some of the words, looking at them closely to be certain.

“Don’t just rely on this,” Joshua warns. “Try and learn a few of these words every day, and soon you’ll be able to start using them on your own.”

“Can I read these out to you so you can correct my pronunciation?” he asks, squinting at the first sentence. “I know he’s going to ask us for spoken English next, and I really don’t have a clue.”

Joshua is endlessly patient and kind in helping Seungkwan, correcting every syllable and giving him the translations of more difficult words. He makes Seungkwan spell them on his own, though; says he won’t learn if Joshua just gives him all the answers. They’re sat there for an hour or two, just to finish one sheet of the homework, so by the time they’re finished he’s is eager to teach Joshua some History as repayment.

“Do you have homework or something you need help with?” he asks.

“No, actually, I was hoping you could just give me some basic history I need to know.” He looks around and leans in closer to Seungkwan. “I’m not really supposed to spread this, but… my Dad and I are only here for a short time, as missionaries from South Korea. I don’t know anything about North Korean history, really.”

“Really? You’re from South Korea?” Seungkwan sits back in surprise. Other than his fluent English, nothing sets Joshua apart from the rest of them; learning he’s a foreigner here makes him seem more mysterious, more exciting.

“Shh!” Joshua laughs, putting a finger to Seungkwan’s lips. “Yeah, I am. So, what are some basics of a North Korean history class?”

“How much do you know about Kim Il-Sung?” he asks. He can start from there.

“Who’s that?” Joshua asks.

Seungkwan gives a surprised laugh, then looks at him, waiting for his real answer. Joshua only looks back at him, deadly serious.

“Wait, really? You don’t know who our Great Leader is? What do they teach you in South Korea?”

“Is he the one on all the posters?” He gestures across the room to where the huge images of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il cover the walls.

“Yes,” Seungkwan says, staring at him in disbelief. “He’s on your badge there, too. Haven’t you been wondering about that?” It is this boy’s first day here, so maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised, but Joshua is an anomaly to him. For as long as he can remember, he’s never met anyone who doesn’t know who their Great Leader is. He looks around, a little uncomfortable; he’s not sure if they should be saying these things out loud. Then again, wouldn’t it be a bigger wrongdoing not to teach him about their Great Leader?

“Of course I’ve been wondering,” Joshua says. “It’s a good thing you’re here to teach me.” He gestures to Seungkwan to explain, so he launches into the most general explanation he can muster.

“Kim Il-Sung was our first leader, known as the Great Leader because of all he did to establish North Korea as a prosperous country.” He looks around for visual aid, and doesn’t have to look very far; there’s a book on the Great Leader on the shelf right next to them. He pulls it out and opens it up to a photo of Kim Il-Sung. “He rose up from poverty to lead an army against Japanese occupiers in World War Two, then was the leader of North Korea from 1948 until his death in 1994. He established our political parties, gave us a stable economy, won the Korean War, gave us our principles of Juche. He’s the first name that should be on your tongue when you arrive here.”

Joshua watches him carefully as he speaks. “What’s Juche?”

“Wow, you really are a foreigner,” Seungkwan marvels. For some reason, he’d never realised that other countries wouldn’t learn about the Great Leader like they do. “It’s only the foundation of our whole country! It’s the idea that we are self-sustaining, that we as individuals are masters of our own destiny, and that our country can be strong if we work hard and rely on ourselves, not others. The Great Leader guides our country in this, so that we can thrive.” He pulls Joshua out of his seat and towards the window, craning his head until he can find what he’s looking for on the city landscape. “Do you see that there? That’s Juche Tower; the torch monument at the top symbolises this. It reminds us to always work towards Juche. I think it’s beautiful.”

Joshua is quiet, peering out at the city of Pyongyang, Juche Tower just visible between two high-rise buildings. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Anyway, that’s really the bare basics,” Seungkwan says, handing the book he was using over to Joshua. “You should really read up on his life, though. Everyone knows about it, and you’ll stand out if you don’t know anything. There’s our Dear Leader Kim Jong-Il, too. He’s the current leader, and Kim Il-Sung’s son.”

“Yes, I know a little about him,” Joshua says, looking down at the book in front of him. There’s quiet for a moment.

“What did you learn about in South Korea?” Seungkwan asks. Thinking about it, he can’t name the president of South Korea. He supposes it’s not so surprising Joshua doesn’t know anything about Kim Il-Sung, who’s been dead for sixteen years.

“Oh, you know,” Joshua says, shrugging. “My own country, but the rest of the world, too.”

Seungkwan desperately wants to ask what sort of things he learned about the rest of the world; he doesn’t know much at all, other than that Japan, the U.S. and South Korea are their enemies, and they must be defended against them. Joshua seems nice, though, and he’d been allowed over the border, so he must be one of the good ones. He backs out of the question at the last minute, feeling uncomfortable asking about that sort of thing. He knows he shouldn’t.

“I see,” is all he says. “Do you want me to go through anything particular with you, for History? Or will the book be enough?”

“I think this will do fine,” Joshua says. “Do you want to study again tomorrow?”

“Sure!” Seungkwan says enthusiastically. He likes Joshua; he’s interesting, and new, and pretty. In an objective, observant way, obviously.

“Can I come to your room?” Joshua asks. “I need ideas on how to settle into mine. I don’t have photos or anything to make it feel homely.”

Seungkwan just laughs at his strange suggestion, but agrees anyway, giving him his room number. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, standing and gathering up his belongings.

“See you then,” Joshua says, making his own way out, giving Seungkwan a playful wink as he leaves.

-

Mr. Hong calls him up after class the next day along with two other boys, to tell them that as the bottom three of the class, they’ll be working with Joshua to boost their grades. It’s crushing, to have the confirmation that he’s _that_ bad at English, but he finds that the promise of studying with Joshua three times a week is a big upside; he thinks of tutors as strict and pushy, but Joshua is nothing but patient and kind. They end up studying together most days a week, to learn English and History from each other, and Seungkwan quickly finds he enjoys studying with Joshua—it’s more fun than being with Hyunwoo, who studies too seriously, but more productive than being with Changkyun, who tends to scrape by with little to no actual work.

Sometimes, when they’ve been in the library for hours, Joshua puts down his pen and says, _do you want to take a break?_ Then they go out into the spring weather and take a walk around the school field together. There’s no one out there but them; they’re in the middle of a city, but with the school campus being walled off and isolated from the streets of Pyongyang, it’s refreshing to walk together in the peace of the field outside. These are his favourite times, because out here, he feels he can talk to Joshua candidly, and Joshua talks back just as honestly. The comfortable atmosphere sometimes makes him say things he’s never said to anyone else.

“Sometimes I’m scared to go into my Dad’s work. I feel like that a lot of the time, actually. I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility.” He shivers and walks closer to Joshua, who puts an arm around him, shielding him from the not-quite-warm breeze.

“What does he do?”

“He works in immigration. He’s an important man in that office; when I lived at home, we barely saw him, because he was working so often.”

“Do you want to go into immigration?”

Seungkwan thinks that’s a silly question. He’s always been headed in that direction; where else would he go? “I don’t know. Does it matter? That’s what I’ve been sent here to prepare for.”

“What would you do if you had the choice, though?”

Seungkwan thinks about it, long and hard. “I love singing in our school choir. I think music is one of the most beautiful things this world has. It’s not a real career, but I’d love to, maybe, be a conductor, or something. Do any musicians work full time?” he shrugs. “In a different world, maybe.” The thought makes him feel guilty; that he, with so much in life, should wish for a different world. “What about you? What would you like to do, if you could do anything?”

Joshua looks at the ground ahead of them as they walk. “I’d like to work for a Human Rights organisation, or something. There are so many people around the world who need help, you know? I’d like to make a good change. A real impact.”

“Really?” Seungkwan says quietly. “I don’t know much about the rest of the world. That sounds noble, though.” He smiles up at Joshua. “I hope you get to do it.”

Joshua smiles back at him. “I hope so too.”

They’ve reached the corner of the field hidden by the shed of sports equipment. They usually walk around it, but today, Joshua takes him by the hand and pulls him behind it, stopping him in between the field wall and the shed wall, where no one can see them. Even the sunlight struggles to get in, making him feel like they’re in a hidey hole of their own, isolated and safe.

“Seungkwan…” Joshua says, standing close to him in the space they’ve found. “Will you sing for me?”

“Sing?” Seungkwan asks. “Sing what?”

“Anything you like,” Joshua says.

“Why?”

“Because I want to hear you sing,” he says, simply.

Seungkwan can’t find much of an argument to that. He doesn’t know many songs, so he sings what he’s been leaning in choir recently: A Ballad for my Country.

The noise echoes around them, bouncing between the two walls as he sings. He can’t remember ever doing this; he sings when he’s on his own, often, but no one has ever asked him to sing just for them. It’s Joshua, so he doesn’t really mind, but it’s still a little embarrassing, and he can feel his cheeks going pink under his gaze. _For the country I love; may you prosper, higher than before._

When he finishes, Joshua looks at him so intently, his eyes so sad. “That was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling and averting Joshua’s eyes for a moment. He doesn’t hear that often.

“Seungkwan, if this isn’t what you want, you can tell me.”

“What?” Seungkwan asks, looking up at Joshua’s pretty, cat-like eyes. His face is so close, and then his mouth is right there, pressing up against his lips in a soft kiss.

Seungkwan immediately freezes up. He hadn’t realised Joshua had seen right through him, had delved into his brain and seen the thoughts he isn’t supposed to have—about singing, his future, Joshua—he seems to know it all. His first reaction is panic. Just a few months ago, he remembers there being a series of public executions in Pyongyang—traitors to their Dear Leader, criminals, prisoners. Among them were a pair of men with matching soulmate marks. He’d always known he shouldn’t talk about boys that way, because no one else did it, but seeing the death by firing squad of those two men confirmed to him that he can’t think like that anymore. He’s tried his best to look to women, instead of men, but somehow, his mind always wanders back.

He knows this kiss is wrong. It’s illegal to be with someone of the same sex; without reproduction, their relationship is useless. Yet here is Joshua, indulging in it, encouraging it, and he doesn’t want to break away.

They do, though, and he’s still frozen in place, staring up at Joshua.

“Are you really from South Korea?” Seungkwan whispers, staring at him. “Is this what they do there?”

“Seungkwan,” Joshua says, his voice so, so soft. “If you want to kiss me, you can. It’s okay. It will stay our secret.”

He can feel himself shaking at the prospect, but he’s tempted. Really tempted. He knows he’s going to grow up and marry a respectable woman he’ll try his best to love, follow in his father’s footsteps and work every hour of the day. He knows this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer; he knows he wants this, so badly. He can barely bring himself to move, though, so he just nods, and looks at Joshua’s pretty, plush lips. Joshua leans in again, this time cupping the side of Seungkwan’s head to kiss him deeper, and it feels electric. His every nerve feels like it’s alive, his heart about to burst right out of his chest, and he even lets himself lean into Joshua a little, allowing the kiss to deepen. He finds Joshua’s t-shirt in his grip, pulling them closer to each other.

When they come up for air, Joshua’s eyes look like they’re shining, and Seungkwan has a rush of adrenaline bubbling in his chest. He looks around anxiously, as if someone could’ve snuck up on them in the few minutes they weren’t looking. It’s still just the two of them, behind the shed on the quiet playing field, and a little laugh bubbles up in his throat as he realises that they just got away with that. He’s just kissed Joshua, and he’s terrified, and he’s excited, and he’s a traitor, and he’s just done the most self-indulgent thing in his life, and it felt so good, and so guilty.

“That was nice,” Joshua says, thumbing affectionately at the skin of Seungkwan’s cheek, where his hand is still resting against his face.

“It was amazing,” he breathes, almost a whisper, as if the walls can hear. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to. I really like you, Seungkwan.”

He can’t help the little gasp that leaves his mouth; those are words he daren’t even dream about hearing from someone like Joshua. “I really like you too, Joshua—but you know we can’t do that again, right? There’s no way, it’s not allowed. We can’t.”

“Even though we both want to?” Joshua asks.

Seungkwan looks at him in utter disbelief. “You’re really from another planet or something, right? Come on, let’s go back in before anyone starts looking for us.”

-

As it turns out, it was not a once-in-a-lifetime offer from Joshua, who is more than happy to kiss Seungkwan all the time. He starts dragging him behind the shed every time they go for a walk together, and they make out with more surety, more heat, more touching. They study in Joshua’s room and kiss on the bed; they study in Seungkwan’s room and giggle together under his sheets as Joshua teaches him pick-up lines in English. When Seungkwan is with Joshua, he feels happy, happier than he can remember being in a long time. Being with him feels like fresh air, like the affection is breathing life into Seungkwan’s lungs.

But then Joshua goes to his own room for the night when curfew is called, and Seungkwan is left in the dark with only his thoughts. He thinks about the men who were executed; he thinks about his father, with all his expectations, and his role under their Dear Leader. He’s kept up late by the knowledge that this can’t last; that he can never be with Joshua properly, not when he needs to marry a woman and carry on their family line. Not when his love for Joshua is wrong, when Joshua’s mouth isn’t where he’s supposed to be putting his first kiss, Joshua’s heart isn’t supposed to be where he’s putting his first love. Joshua is only here temporarily, anyway, while Mr. Hong teaches English; someday soon, he’s going to go back to South Korea and kiss other boys, like they seem to do there. He wishes he could go with him. He knows it’s impossible. He can’t leave his family, his country, his leader. He wishes Joshua could stay. He also wishes Joshua would go, so he doesn’t have to think about this anymore. It’s been months, and he shows no sign of leaving.

All these thoughts disappear when Joshua smiles at him, kisses him, sends tingles through his skin. It makes him think—at least I can have this for now. At least I can be happy for now.

-

In the first week of December, the headmaster calls Seungkwan up to his office. He’s sick with nerves the whole way there; the kids who get called to the headmaster’s office were the ones to get punished, or even expelled. He can only think of one transgression he’s made recently, and it’s not something like being late to classes. It’s something much worse. Something that could get him executed.

“Good afternoon,” he says once he’s called into the office, giving a low respectful bow. He’s never spoken to the headmaster in person before; he’s never had the need.

“Good afternoon, Boo Seungkwan,” Headmaster Park says, giving Seungkwan a tight smile. “Please, sit.”

Seungkwan sits in the plastic seat in front of the desk. There’s silence for a minute as Seungkwan sits there, waiting for Headmaster Park to finish polishing his glasses, slotting them carefully the bridge of his nose and finally looking at him. Seungkwan sits up straight in his chair, hands in his lap, trying not to show the fear sweating through his skin.

“You’re not here to be punished, Seungkwan. I’ve called you here to ask about how you’re doing.”

He’s frozen, voice catching in his throat in surprise. He coughs into a fist and starts to speak again. “Very well, sir. I’ve been working hard. I’m top of the class in Korean Literature, and in History. I’ve also been working hard on improving my English grade.”

“Ah yes,” Headmaster Park says, pointing his finger as if Seungkwan had brought up an excellent point. “You’re being taught by Mr. Hong, correct? Our temporary teacher?”

Seungkwan’s heart lurches when he says the name Hong. He’s dangerously close to Joshua territory.

“Yes, I am.”

“What do you think of him? Does he teach you well?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, subtly crossing his fingers on his lap and hoping this is only a random assessment of Mr. Hong. If that’s all this is, maybe he can walk out of here intact. “He’s very good. I liked Teacher Lee a lot, but Mr. Hong’s classes have really helped me understand spoken English.” He’s not lying, not really—it’s more Joshua’s help that’s boosted his grade so much, but he has found that he’s doing so much better, now. Joshua isn’t even technically supposed to be tutoring him anymore; he’s left the bottom of the class and climbed up into a middle rank.

“What sort of thing has he been teaching?”

“Good level content, I think. Things we enjoy, statements about ourselves, common questions, things like that.”

“I hear he has his son tutoring other students?” he asks, and Seungkwan can feel sweat trickle down his back.

“Yes,” he says, willing his voice not to shake.

“Have you been taught by the younger Hong?” He speaks like the idea of a child tutor is funny to him, when really, Seungkwan thinks he’s the best teacher he’s ever had. Kisses as rewards for correct answers are very motivating, though.

“Yes, he’s helped me a lot. I’ve been helping him with some of his other subjects too, so it’s mutually beneficial, I think.”

“That’s very good news, Seungkwan. I’m pleased to hear you’re studying well.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

“Do you have anything else to add about Mr. Hong?”

Seungkwan thinks for a moment, panicked, and says the first thing that comes to him. “I don’t know what his plans are for residence here, but if he were made a permanent teacher, I think he would be a great addition to this school.”

Headmaster Park nods at him, looking at Seungkwan in such a way that he feels like he’s being studied. “I see. How about you, Seungkwan? Are you happy here? Do you think of your family often?”

Seungkwan fidgets in his seat. What should he say? Would saying he’s happy be an indication of his relationship? Why has Headmaster Park brought up his family so suddenly?

“I’m very satisfied with my life here, Headmaster,” he says, hoping this is the correct answer. “I think of my family often, but I haven’t had contact with them since the Chinese New Year holiday, in line with the school rules. I’m excited to see them again at the end of the year.”

Headmaster Park nods, mostly to himself. “Thank you, Seungkwan. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, Headmaster Park,” he says, standing and bowing again before hurrying out of the room. He walks away from the office as fast as he can, heart still racing, headed to the canteen to find Joshua waiting in their usual spot.

“What’s up with you?” he asks as soon as he sits opposite him. Seungkwan isn’t sure if his face is betraying his stress, but he sure feels frazzled.

He swallows and looks around them, not sure if he’s supposed to talk about it. “Can we go for a walk?”

Joshua agrees immediately, binning his food and following Seungkwan out into the grounds. They start on their usual path, walking around the pitch first, but they’re both walking faster than usual, eager to get to the side of the field further away from the ears of the school.

When they get there, Seungkwan tugs gently at Joshua’s arm, getting him to slow down so he can catch his breath and start talking. It’s snowing, light snowflakes landing on the crunch of snow under their feet, but he’s warm enough with adrenaline and the speed-walking. They start to walk slower, side by side, speaking in low voices.

“I just had the fright of my life, Joshua, I thought I was going to have a heart attack in there. Changkyun comes to tell me the Headmaster has called me to his office, and at first I think he’s joking, because only bad kids go there—but then I realised he was serious, and I thought they’d found us out, I thought they were about to send me to live on an isolated farm with my family for dishonouring my country, I thought they were going to deport you—”

“What was it about?” Joshua asks sharply, more serious than Seungkwan has ever seen him. “What did he want?”

“He was asking about your dad, mostly, if he’s a good teacher, what sort of thing he teaches us. He asked about your tutoring too. If I’m happy with it, things like that.” They turn the corner of the field together, approaching the shed.

Joshua takes in a sharp breath and doesn’t say anything.

“But I think it’s a good thing! He must be seeing if your father is a good enough teacher; he’ll probably ask him to stay on permanently! Do you think he’ll say yes?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful, but he’s so very hopeful.

“I have something to tell you too, Seungkwan,” Joshua says, pulling Seungkwan behind the shed so that they’re stood still, facing each other under the gentle snowfall.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this before, but I’m not really from South Korea. My father is, but I’ve lived my whole life in a place called L.A., in America.”

Seungkwan feels his heart clench. He’s known Joshua almost a year, now; he’s been lying to him this whole time? “America?”

“Yes. My father isn’t here as a missionary, or a teacher; he’s here as an investigator into life in Pyongyang, working with the South Korean and American governments to gather information. Over the past few days we’ve been hearing whispers that the North Korean government have been looking into the temporary residents living here, and the fact that the Headmaster was asking about us is bad news.”

“You’re a spy?” Seungkwan breathes. His nose and feet are starting to freeze, stood here in the snow, but the way his insides are frozen, the way he can barely seem to breathe properly is what’s overwhelming him. He feels like everything he knew is crumbling apart, giving way beneath his feet.

“Listen to me, Seungkwan it’s not like you think,” Joshua says urgently, placing his hands on his arms. “We’re not here to infiltrate your country, or to hurt anyone, or spy on your government. Your country is so secretive; it’s the most closed off nation in the world, and I think you know that, don’t you? You think about it every time you ask me about the world but don’t let me answer. You know you’re not allowed to know, but the rest of the world isn’t allowed to know about you, either. We’re here to observe, to gather information and take it back.”

“Gather information...” Seungkwan says, numbly. Is that all he is, then? Part of Joshua’s investigation?

“I was meant to tutor students to get an insight into how you think, how you see North Korea from the inside. I guess I got too far into your head; falling in love with you was never meant to be part of the plan. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you the whole truth until now, but it was for our safety, and yours too. I understand if you feel betrayed, but I never lied about how I feel about you, Seungkwan. I never kissed you as part of the mission; that was all me, I promise you.”

Seungkwan rubs at his eyes, willing away the tears. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

“My father got word last night from our superiors. There’s been some movement in the government; they’re changing some of the Head of Office positions out, arranging public executions for perceived traitors. They told us this because one of them is the Head of Immigration, which means we need to leave the country in the next few days, before they appoint someone who could be a danger to us. But the news just made me think of you, Seungkwan. Your father’s name was on that list. When I asked, they told us that your mother and sisters must’ve had a heads up; they’ve fled the country. The headmaster calling you in today was probably to get an assessment on you, to see what you know about them leaving, and to gather information on my father at the same time.”

Seungkwan can feel the tears on his face, his legs shaking in both cold and fear. “M-my family…”

“I’m so sorry,” Joshua says, bringing Seungkwan into a hug, letting him cry against his shoulder. “We think you’ll be pulled out of school on the day of his execution, and you’ll disappear, like so many others in your position have before.”

“Wh-what—” he gasps out between sobs, pulling his head up from Joshua’s shoulder to look into his face. “What are you saying?”

“Your country is a dictatorship, Seungkwan. People outside Pyongyang are starving to death, working like slaves to build nuclear weapons so that your leader can threaten the rest of the world. You’ve been given this image of greatness your whole life so that you and everyone around you will contribute to it.” Joshua plants a kiss to Seungkwan’s forehead, continues holding him as if he can keep him safe from the devastating words coming out of his mouth. “Your people are imprisoned and killed regularly. You’re living in one of the most extreme regimes in the world, and no one here knows it, because you only know what you’re told to know.”

Seungkwan feels sick to his stomach. If anyone could hear Joshua speaking like that, he’d be taken away immediately; they’d both be dead before any public execution could happen. Maybe that’s exactly what Joshua is talking about.

“I need to run away, right?” he asks, though he already knows he’d be caught before he could make it out of the city. “I can’t sit here and wait here to die. But I can’t leave my father, either.”

“Your family had the right idea, Seungkwan, trying to leave. Your father is beyond help now, but if you leave with us tonight, maybe you can reunite with your mother and sisters one day.”

“If I what?” he asks, clutching at Joshua’s wrist.

“Tonight, we’re flying to South Korea, leaving for good. We want to take you with us; my father doesn’t want to leave a sixteen-year-old here to die. Please come with us, Seungkwan. It’s your best chance.”

“Leave?” The suggestion shakes him, but he knows Joshua is right; this is his only option of survival. His country has turned its back on him, and now it’s time for him to do the same on his country.

“Please say you will.”

Seungkwan sways on the spot, gripping at Joshua to anchor himself. “How do I know you’re not a spy after all? And this isn’t a ploy to imprison me in America?”

Joshua looks at him, and he seems so sad, so burdened. “I don’t know how I can prove it to you, Seungkwan. All I can ask is that you trust me.” He leans in to kiss Seungkwan, cold-bitten lips against his own providing the slightest warmth. “I want you with me. I want to keep you safe. After the past year, do you doubt every time we’ve been together? Do you think I was lying about this, all those times?”

Joshua had been quiet and elusive when it came to a lot of subjects; his life before coming here, the things he knows of the world outside, his opinions on Pyongyang. One thing he’d never been silent about was telling Seungkwan that he was lovely, so pretty, so soft to hold, that he’s so in love. Joshua had never been entirely truthful, but he’d tried to keep his lies to a minimum. Seungkwan can’t believe everything they’ve felt together to be false; as hard as he’d tried to repress it, his feelings wouldn’t go away. They may be wrong, sinful feelings, but they’re the best thing he’s ever known.

Joshua has pulled them together too tightly to break away now. Not when everything is on the line.

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

-

There’s a moment when he’s sat on the plane, ready to take off to South Korea, and an officer comes around, asking for final checks of people’s papers. Seungkwan is already nauseous and sweaty from the past few hours of hiding, of travelling under a blanket all the way to the airport, of having to show his false ID to security. He can’t have come this far only to be caught at the last hurdle.

“What are you going to South Korea for?” the officer asks Mr. Hong.

“I’m a languages teacher. I’ve been on a temporary post teaching here, and now that my allotment is up, I’m headed back home to teach there,” he says cheerfully.

“And the boys?”

“These are my sons. They were transfer students, staying with me in North Korea.”

“What language did you teach here?”

“English.”

The officer nods at Joshua. “Tell me something in English.”

“I’m excited to go home and see my friends again,” he says, and it’s obvious from his accent that he’s fluent.

The officer then gestures to Seungkwan. “And you?”

Joshua looks to Seungkwan, who swallows once and tries to find his voice. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

Joshua stares at him with wide eyes, and Seungkwan stares right back, panicking. It’s not like he’d had the time to brush up on his English on his way to fleeing the country, and it was the first thing he could think of. When Joshua had told him what it meant, that one night under the covers, he’d laughed so hard and repeated it until he had it memorised. It’s the most fluent sentence he knows.

Thankfully, the guard doesn’t seem to know much English himself, just nods at the foreign phrase and moves on to the people seated behind them. Seungkwan wilts onto Joshua, feeling like he could pass out. Joshua is shaking with supressed laughter, his father at his side trying to stop him before he draws attention to them again. Seungkwan feels like he’s about to lose his mind from the stress of it all, but he can see why it’s funny. In a ridiculous, unbelievable way.

From then on, things go smoothly. They arrive in South Korea without major issues, are put up in a beautiful hotel while the three of them are questioned by the South Korean government. Mr. Hong requests that the three of them are interviewed together, as he and Joshua are still minors, which he’s grateful for. He doesn’t want to lose sight of Joshua, ever. If he does, then he’ll truly be alone.

It takes a few weeks, but he’s eventually granted refugee amnesty in America, on grounds that he’ll speak to the government there, repeating everything he’d already told South Korea. He doesn’t mind. If it means he gets to stay with Joshua, gets to be safe, he’ll do it.

Three weeks later, he turns seventeen, and while the memories are overwhelming at first, they’re something of a blessing to his mindset. He’s still having sleepless nights, bound up in homesickness and self-hatred for fleeing his country, for abandoning his father, for letting his feelings for Joshua lead him astray. Gaining eight lifetimes worth of experience helps him gain more perspective; helps him see North Korea the way he would have seen it in any of his past lives. Helps him understand that he’s allowed to love Joshua in the same way he’s loved seven boys before. The guilt doesn’t go away, but it becomes easier to bear.

-

It takes a year, but he finally finds his family again, hiding out as illegal refugees in Romania. Mr. Hong flies them out to America, and he hugs them all, and cries for days. He hadn’t known if any of them were even alive.

It takes two years, but his soulmate mark appears on the day he and Joshua move into their very own apartment. Finished with school, they’re set to start work with a refugee charity, helping poor refugees adjust to America, helping them fight for the right to stay here. He’s one of the lucky ones, let in because of his tie to Mr. Hong; if he can help others come to freedom too, he knows he has to try. With that and pursuing singing on the side, he thinks; maybe he can be truly happy, eventually.

The soulmate mark is a pink celestia flower climbing up the side of his thigh. Joshua, predictably, has a red chrysanthemum in the same place. This is the eighth chrysanthemum he’s seen now, but this one means more than any of the others did. It’s the confirmation that he’s not wrong, that he can love Joshua and have nature herself validate it. It’s also a mark of home for a stateless man; he’s not North Korean anymore, but not he’s not American, either. The flower is a sign that he is something, after all; he has a symbol, has a place by Joshua’s side. When Joshua kisses him on the mouth and tells him he loves him, he knows it’s the best place he could be; the only place he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestia flower: affection
> 
> this chapter was inspired by [this wonderful ted talk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6weGCM3sWKc) and uses some details from [this one too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdxPCeWw75k)


	10. YJH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): alcohol, injury

Ma is there waiting for him at the airport gate, because of course she is. His first and biggest supporter, he knows by now that he can always rely on her be there for him, even if doesn’t lift his mood much. As unwavering as she is, he knows he’s disappointed her, and it feels worse than disappointing his whole country.

“My baby,” she calls, walking towards him. He lets go of his luggage handle to embrace her in a hug, taking in the smell of home, the comfort of her arms. “You did so well.”

“You know that’s not true,” he says, muffled into her cardigan.

“Hey,” she replies, leaning out of the hug to look at him. “I’m not having that attitude in my house. I’m proud of you.”

He tries for a smile. “Thanks, Ma.”

“Let’s get you home, baby.”

He nods, turning to find his coach, who had been right behind him when they’d exited the plane. Jimin approaches him pulling his own bag, patting him on the shoulder. “Take some time off, okay? Call me when you want to get back on the ice.”

“Will do,” he says, taking his Ma’s hand and picking up his bag again. “Thank you for your work this year, coach.”

“And you, Seungkwannie,” Jimin says. “Don’t lose hope, okay?” He salutes in his direction before walking out to find a taxi.

-

It’s the middle of the day on a Wednesday, so there’s only a handful of other people on the ice rink; a family with two tiny children, a young couple, two teenage girls giggling and falling. They don’t pay any attention to Seungkwan, waiting at the benches. It had only taken two days for him to give in and call Jungkook—he’s never been able to say away from the ice for long.

“Hey, man,” Jungkook says, approaching him from behind. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Hyung,” he says, standing up to pull him into a hug. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad you called. I thought you’d never show your face in Korea again.”

“I was contemplating it,” he says, voice low, standing aside so Jungkook can sit. “Put your skates on already, you’re late!”

Jungkook smiles at him, dumping his bag and pulling out his ice skates. “You don’t need to be ashamed, you know. Just getting to the Four Continents final is a big deal on its own—it’s the biggest figure skating competition you could attend outside of the Olympics.”

“And I came last,” he says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “That’s definitely something to be ashamed about.”

“No one is ashamed, Seungkwan.”

“Well, I am. Are you ready yet?” He pulls Jungkook out of his seat and the two of them walk over to the rink, heavy skates clomping on the ground until they meet ice. As soon as he pushes off, everything feels lighter; he hasn’t skated recreationally in too long, too focused on the final, on his routine. It reminds him of why he loves to skate—the fluidity of it, the freedom, the feeling of solid ice passing beneath the thin blades.

“It’s okay to get one bad result,” Jungkook says, keeping up with him easily. “It doesn’t need to kill your career. Wasn’t Jimin saying you’d be going to the Olympics after the Four Continents?”

“Yeah, but that was before I finished in last place. I think Jimin had a more optimistic vision for my future.”

“So what—you don’t want to go?”

Seungkwan shrugs, turning a corner swiftly. “I don’t know if I’m up to it. The Olympics are more competitive, more high profile—I’m not sure if I’d even qualify.”

“You’ll qualify,” he scoffs. “You’re the best male skater we have, aside from Yoon Jeonghan. And rumour has it he’s retiring before the next Olympics, right? He might have retired already, considering he didn’t go the Four Continents.”

“That’s even worse! I can’t follow up someone like that with my shitty score—it’s an embarrassment. The Winter Olympics are in PyeongChang next, too—I’d disgrace him, I’d disgrace my country—”

“You’re not running for president, Seungkwan. Don’t think about other people. Do you want to compete in the Olympics, or not?”

He slows to a halt, coming to rest at the barrier. The family are leaving the ice at the other side of the rink, heaving their tiny children between them and leaving him and Jungkook on an empty rink; the girls had left to sit on the benches almost as soon as the two of them had entered, giggling and watching them. The couple had disappeared to somewhere else in the leisure complex a few minutes earlier.

“I don’t know. I need to clear my head and think about it—I can’t go into it if I’m not sure.”

“Do a routine, then.”

“What?”

“Do the Ailee routine. The Yoon Jeonghan one—I know you know it by heart. You love that routine, and you have a clear rink.” He steps off the ice as if to make a point. “Let me go and ask Taehyung to play it.”

“Jungkook—” he starts half-heartedly.

“I’m going to ask him, right now! Get ready!” Jungkook shouts, running as fast as he can in his skates towards the counter where Taehyung is half-asleep in front of the shelves of ice skates.

“Get ready my ass,” Seungkwan mutters darkly. “These skates have sharp blades, Jeon Jungkook.”

The opening notes of _I Will Show You_ start up, and he skates into the centre of the ice, taking up position. Once Ailee’s strong voice fills the arena, and he moves off into the routine, sharpening the lines of his body to mimic Yoon Jeonghan’s beautiful form. There’s a fun layback spin in the first chorus that he eases into, skates scraping against the ice as he twirls for a good ten seconds, head tilted back and body upright. He comes out of it and into a graceful skate around the length of the arena as the chorus approaches—the fun part.

 _“I’ll show you a completely different me,”_ Ailee sings, as Seungkwan throws himself into a triple Salchow jump, landing on one leg that carries him across the rink in a graceful glide. Beyond the noise of air whooshing past his ears, the bass thumping through the ice, he can hear Jungkook whooping for him by the barrier. He flourishes his hands, dancing playfully as he moves past Jungkook’s seat and the next verse starts. There’s a scratch spin, which isn’t his strongest move—Jimin always yells at him for his formation on that one—but it’s fast and fun so he does it anyway, the rink around him blurring into one as he brings his leg in to build up momentum.

The next part is challenging—already dizzy from the scratch spin, he needs to go into a toe loop jump in the next chorus, but he trusts his instincts and skates straight along the ice. The jump takes a lot of energy, but he’s been pent up for the last two days—he executes it without a hitch, skating steadily into the last part of the song.

 _“I will forget you without regret,”_ she sings, and Seungkwan prepares himself for the triple axel, skating faster and faster until her high note comes and he leaps up into the air, spinning three times before landing on one skate. It had been a major part of his Four Continents routine, the move he’d worked on the hardest—it’s hard not to feel bitter he’s just nailed it here, with his audience of one, but had completely botched it at the Four Continents, in front of thousands.

The song ends soon after that, so he slows down, coming to a stop and bowing to his audience; Jungkook is giving him a standing ovation, and he can hear the giggling girls still sat in the corner, muttering to each other.

“My ideas are the best,” Jungkook says as Seungkwan skates over to him. He walks off the ice to dig his bottled water out of his bag.

“Yeah, yeah,” Seungkwan scoffs, out of breath.

“You know what I saw out there?”

“What?”

“An Olympic athlete.”

He rolls his eyes, taking a swig of his drink.

“I’m serious. You’re still a National champion, Seungkwan, four times over, and Junior World champion, and you’ve got a million medals—don’t let this one setback stop you from getting to the top. You’ve got over three years until the Olympics. You have time to train.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says. “Thanks for coming to skate with me.”

“No problem. Thanks for coming out of your den of shame to see me.”

“Anytime.”

-

The feeling of calm he gains from skating with Jungkook doesn’t last long. The next day there’s a video circling his social media that fills him with dread—it’s of him, skating on the rink yesterday, executing Yoon Jeonghan’s routine. It’s only been four days since his disastrous performance at the Four Continents, and now this video of him is out there for anyone to see. He wasn’t ready to face the public again, wanted to lay low for a while and ease himself back into it. He can see Jungkook in the corner, watching him and clapping, so he knows he didn’t film it. It must’ve been the girls at the benches—he hadn’t thought they’d known who he was. The professional-level routine probably gave it away, he supposes.

Against his better judgement, he scrolls to find the comments under the video.

_Why didn’t he skate like this at the four continents?_

_Shame about his result on Sunday. He’s clearly got the skill. Not sure what happened_

_Ironic that he can only skate like this when doing someone else’s routine. Should leave the skating to Yoon Jeonghan_

He rolls over in bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. Jungkook and his Ma are the only ones who’ve told him to work towards the Olympics. Of course they have—his mother and his best friend are the people who are supposed to be encouraging, to believe in him no matter what. No one else has faith in him. He hasn’t heard from Jimin since their flight. The public have no faith in him—his country doesn’t want him representing them, that much is clear.

He could take up a job teaching kids, or something. He can still skate without competing at professional level. He doesn’t have to give up—just step down, let someone else do it.

He’ll call Jimin in the morning.

-

A week later, he’s still working up to calling Jimin, anticipating the sort of scolding he’s going to get for this decision. He’s never quite ready to face Jimin’s wrath. So when Jimin calls him instead, he picks up, thinking, I’ll do it now. I’ll say it.

“Seungkwannie!” Jimin sings down the line. “Were you ever going to call me?”

“Yes, Hyung, I was just…” he trails off, not sure how to admit that he’s scared of him.

“It doesn’t matter now. Listen, Seungkwan—can you meet me at the café in the leisure complex for lunch tomorrow? I have a surprise for you.”

Immediately, he feels his stomach bottoming out, weighed down with guilt. The surprise is going to be new skates, or a new outfit, or something similarly practical and shiny and an encouraging symbol of Seungkwan’s new start on the ice. He’s going to have to accept Jimin’s gift before telling him he’s out of a job.

Great.

He sighs. “Sure, Hyung. We need to talk anyway, right?”

“We certainly do,” Jimin says, sounding unreasonably cheerful. “I’ll see you then.”

-

He spots Jimin’s head of blonde hair quickly in the near-empty café, coming over to sit with him. Jimin stands up smiling, greeting him with a hug.

“Why are you so happy?” Seungkwan grumbles.

“Your surprise,” Jimin says, bright eyes disappearing into his smiling face. “I think you’re going to like it.”

“Hyung, you really didn’t have to get me anything—”

“Oh, it wasn’t my idea! He was the one to contact me first.”

“Who?”

“Him,” Jimin says, nodding to the doorway.

He turns around and promptly freezes where he stands. Entering through the door, looking gorgeous and out of place in the dim café lighting, is none other than Yoon Jeonghan, silver hair shining and eyes smiling at Seungkwan.

His vision tunnels in as Jeonghan walks towards him. The sounds of Jimin’s tinkling laugh fades into the background—he feels like he’s dreaming. Yoon Jeonghan is standing in this café, approaching him, and he might pass out because of it.

“Hi,” he says, sticking out a hand for Seungkwan to shake. “I’m Jeonghan. You must be Seungkwan?”

“I’m—I, yes, I’m Seungkwan,” he stammers, forcing himself to take his hand and shake politely. He’s not sure how he’s functioning properly. Yoon Jeonghan is stood in front of him, introducing himself—not gaining a medal behind a TV screen, not skating around on a YouTube video Seungkwan is watching late into the night, not (embarrassingly) on the poster on his wall. He’s here in flesh and blood, greeting Jimin and sitting down at their table, like a normal person. He compels himself to follow, sitting in the chair next to him and trying not to stare.

“I take it Jimin hasn’t told you why I’m here?” Jeonghan asks, a glint in his eye.

Seungkwan can barely look him in the face. It’s like he’s being blinded. “He didn’t even tell me you were coming,” he says, staring daggers at Jimin. Jimin just smiles back, putting his chin in his hand and watching them, pleased.

“Then I’d better explain,” Jeonghan says. “You may not know this, but I turned thirty last week.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says, then slapping a hand to his mouth, shaking his head at himself. “I mean, happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Jeonghan is smiling all too knowingly, and he wills down the growing embarrassment. “So, most single skaters my age have already retired. Everyone’s expecting me to retire. I was halfway to that decision anyway—I’ve had my time, I think.”

“Right,” Seungkwan nods, enraptured.

“But then our country won the bid for the Winter Olympics! That was a nice surprise. It made me think, ah, I can’t give up now.”

“Of course.”

“Did you know that pairs skaters retire a few years older than we do? Something about not having to do the same jumps, because you’ve got a partner to throw you into them, right?”

“Right.”

“So I thought—perfect. I’ll compete in my last competition as a paired skater. Find myself a young partner, a new coach, and go for the PyeongChang Olympics. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re switching to paired skating? Just like that?” he asks. Jeonghan has been a singles skater since he was fourteen—and now he’s going to finish his career doing something new. It’s an exciting, but daring move. “Who are you going to skate with?” They must be someone experienced, for him to be making a decision like this.

Jeonghan sends him am amused look. “I was hoping to skate with you, Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan stares at him. “Me?”

He nods, smiling. “You’re only, what, twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two next year,” he says, dazed.

“Yet you’ve been a big name on the skating scene for years. You’re really talented, you have some impressive medals, and I saw the video the other day—the one of you skating my routine.”

“Oh, God,” he says, putting his face in his hands.

“I thought it was amazing. You did all those moves so effortlessly. You performed it beautifully, even though you were just having fun with your friend. I want you to be my partner, if you’ll agree.”

“I would still coach you,” Jimin adds. “Pairs was my speciality, after all.”

“And we have plenty of time until the Olympics to get to know each other, and get used to paired skating,” Jeonghan says. “You don’t have to decide right now. But I’d love for you to think about it. And say yes.”

“I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m the right person for this,” he says, pulling at the skin around his thumbnail anxiously. “I’ve never skated pairs before, I don’t have the skill to match you in something like that. I don’t know if you watched the Four Continents, but—”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Seungkwan. One score in a hundred competitions doesn’t reflect your skill. Believe me when I say you’re capable of this. I wouldn’t have come to you if I thought otherwise.”

Seungkwan sits back in his chair, speechless. His idol has just walked into his life, with broad knowledge of his career at hand, to ask him to work with him for the next three years. Yoon Jeonghan thinks he’s capable of getting anywhere close to his skill, to match him on the ice as his partner. He’s not sure what to do with this.

“Here,” he says, sliding a card across the table. “Please think about it and contact me. No pressure if you were planning to compete in the singles, though.” With that, Jeonghan stands up, pushing his chair back under the table. “Have a good day, gentlemen,” he says, sweeping from the room.

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan says, as soon as the café door shuts behind Jeonghan. “Did that just happen?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, eyes twinkling.

“Yoon Jeonghan wants to skate with me?”

“And you tried to reject him.”

“I didn’t reject him!” he hisses. “I was trying to make sure he knew—”

“He probably came to you because of the Four Continents result,” Jimin says. “Not despite it. He knows you can do better. We all do, Seungkwan.”

“It’s your job to say that.”

“Is it Yoon Jeonghan’s job to say that? To ask you to come to the Olympics with him?” Jimin challenges. “Is he doing it because he’s your friend, or your coach? No. He’s doing it because, as a professional skater, he wants you to be his partner. He thinks you have the capability to win.”

“He wants me to be his partner,” Seungkwan repeats, dazed.

“You betcha,” Jimin says. “So? Are you going to do it?”

Seungkwan looks up at him. As if he could ever actually say no.

-

“So I thought for your first session, you could free skate for a little, get used to each as skaters. Then we can talk about the moves you guys want to try—a lot of them will be new to the both of you, so we should get started on them right away,” Jimin says, moving onto the ice ahead of them. “Sound good?”

“That sounds perfect,” Jeonghan says, taking Seungkwan’s hand and leading him onto the ice. He kicks off with a powerful pull, and it’s easy to see why he’s the best Korean skater of his generation, even with simple skating—every muscle in his body is built for this, his form perfectly straight and every movement smooth. Seungkwan follows him out, on his best form to keep up.

“So tell me, Seungkwannie. What made you say yes?” Jeonghan asks, skating backwards to face him as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Because it’s you,” Seungkwan admits, only slightly blushing. “You’re half the reason I got into skating in the first place. How could I say no?”

“Really?” Jeonghan asks, eyes bright as he turns the corner in the rink backwards, without looking behind him.

“Yeah. I was ten years old, and you’d just taken the gold at the Nationals, at eighteen. It was when you had your long hair, you know— and you were up on the podium with a medal and a smile and a crown of flowers, and I remember thinking that you looked like a fairy tale prince, or something. I asked my Ma to take me skating the week after. The rest is history.”

Jeonghan pulls on Seungkwan’s hand so that he’s brought up close to him, then lifts his arm up, guiding him into a simple spin on the ice. “So it’s because I’m a celebrity?”

“It’s because it’s very meaningful for you to ask this of me, and I’m honoured,” he says, honestly. “I hope I can do you proud.”

“I hope for the same,” Jeonghan says. “You’ve got a whole career ahead of you, so I’ll do my best not to fuck this up for you.”

Hearing the curse word makes him smile in surprise. Jeonghan is usually well behaved on camera, if a little cheeky in interviews—it’s somewhat grounding to hear him swear. “Thanks, Hyung. My family are going to be surprised when I tell them about this.”

“Maybe you should bring me along as proof when you tell them,” he says.

“Oh, I think I’ll work them up to meeting you,” he says. “Unlike Jimin, I’m nice like that.”

“I heard that!” Jimin calls. “For that, we’re going to start practising. Get over here—how do you fancy trying to do a death spiral?”

-

Between intense training hours, getting to know Jeonghan personally, and spending the rest of his free time with his family, he doesn’t manage to see Jungkook again until his New Year’s Eve party.

“I’ll be there, I promise! We skaters don’t work every day of our lives,” he says down the phone.

“It feels like it,” Jungkook’s crackly voice complains. “In that case, Yoon Jeonghan will be able to come too, right?”

“You want me to invite Yoon Jeonghan to your young adult drinking fest?” he deadpans, lowering his voice. Jeonghan is still circling the ice, not far from where he’s sat on the benches, winding down after their last training session of the year. “Do people in their thirties even go to parties?”

“Stop being ageist and ask him,” Jungkook orders.

“Why?”

“Because I want to meet your partner, and you haven’t had the manners to introduce me yet.”

“He’s my skating partner, not my _partner_ partner,” Seungkwan hisses. “Why would you need to meet him?”

“Don’t worry, Seungkwannie. I won’t tell him about that phase you had when you were twelve, when you would kiss his poster goodnight, do you remember?”

“I hate you.”

Jungkook sniggers. “Love you too. Bring him, or I’ll kick you out. For real.” The line cuts out.

“Did I hear something about a drinking fest?” Jeonghan says, skating over to the barrier in front of him. He cringes, hoping he hadn’t heard much of the call.

“My best friend is having a New Year’s Eve party, and you’re cordially invited. He’s mad I haven’t introduced you guys yet.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Sure. I don’t have any other plans.”

“Great!” he says, trying to feel as if this is at all great. “I’ll see you then, Hyung. Have a good Christmas.” He starts to gather up his belongings quickly, eager to get out now that it’s just the two of them left in the rink. He’d thought the fanboy butterflies might have disappeared once he’d gotten to know Jeonghan, but they’ve only gotten worse. Somehow, Jeonghan seems more beautiful in person. He’s funnier than Seungkwan could’ve known, and stupidly fun to be around. Never mind his skill on the ice—it’s even more breath-taking in the flesh.

In other words, he’s got another three years of this, and he’s fucked already.

“Merry Christmas, Seungkwan,” Jeonghan calls as he leaves the rink.

“Merry Christmas, Hyung!” he calls back, not slowing down in his exit.

-

“Seungkwannie!” Jungkook yells when he opens the door. He’s already had a few drinks, it seems, because he’s laughing too loud and holding him too tight when he comes in for a hug. “You brought him!” he exclaims right in Seungkwan’s ear.

“Yeah,” he responds, letting Jungkook go so he can leap at Jeonghan instead. He can feel a small amount of vindication in the fact that he’s going to be embarrassed by this in the morning; Jungkook is no small Jeonghan fan himself.

“Hi!” he exclaims. “I’m Jungkook! Seungkwan’s best friend in the world!”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Jeonghan says, a laugh in his voice. “Thanks for the invite!”

“It’s no problem,” he waves his hand around to emphasise his nonchalance. “I’m happy to have you. Two ice princes. It’s pretty warm in here, so don’t melt!” He laughs at his own joke as he moves back into the apartment. Seungkwan looks at Jeonghan, an apology in his expression as they move into the flat. Jeonghan just winks back as if to say _it’s fine,_ causing Seungkwan to take in a sharp breath and move into the crowd of people. He greets Taehyung, introducing him to Jeonghan politely before his mind can linger on that wink for too long.

He tries to take it easy on the drinks, well aware of how much of a lightweight he is, but Jeonghan doesn’t seem to have the same reservation. He’s tipsy within half an hour, starts clinging to Seungkwan as they move around the party together, dancing and talking and answering people’s questions about their training. Jungkook is eager to know which jumps they’re practicing, but he’s at the point of drunk where he keeps asking the same questions, their conversation going in circles. Eventually Jimin comes by to make him drink some water, to which Jungkook complies, half of it missing his mouth and going down his chin.

“Hey,” Jeonghan asks at some point in the night, when they’re sat on an empty sofa, breaking from the dancing going on in front of them. “Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

“Plenty,” Seungkwan scoffs. “To perfect my Lutz. To land an axel consistently well. To have our short program routine down by the end of the year—”

“Yeah, obviously we want to do well at skating,” Jeonghan says. “I meant real resolutions, in the rest of your life.”

Seungkwan frowns. “Skating is my life. What else would I want?”

“Well, I have one,” Jeonghan contends.

“What is it?”

“I want to ask this guy that I like on a date,” he says, looking Seungkwan straight in the eyes.

“Oh,” he says, his heart sinking. “Good luck with that, Hyung.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ve been working myself up to it because we work together. I don’t want things to be awkward or unprofessional if he doesn’t like me like that, you know?”

“Oh,” Seungkwan says, mind reeling. Jeonghan likes Jimin? It makes sense, he supposes. They’re in the same generation of skaters, and they get on well in their training sessions, like old friends. “I’m sure he’ll say yes!”

“You think so?” Jeonghan says, moving closer to Seungkwan, but his voice gets lost under the eruption of noise in the apartment.

The people stood around them start to chorus together a little clumsily. “Ten! Nine!”

“Hm? What are they doing?” Seungkwan asks.

“Eight! Seven!”

“It’s nearly midnight,” Jeonghan answers. “They’re counting down.”

“Six! Five!”

“Oh, right,” he says, suddenly flushing. He’d forgotten about this part of New Year’s Eve.

“Four! Three!”

“Have you ever had a New Year’s kiss before, Seungkwan?”

Seungkwan looks into Jeonghan’s pretty golden-brown eyes, focused on him, intent and intense, and realises he’s an idiot.

“Two! One!”

Jeonghan leans in and Seungkwan meets him halfway, bodies angled together on the sofa so that they meet in an easy, soft kiss. Fireworks go off outside, and on the TV, and inside Seungkwan’s head, his skin buzzing with the alcohol and the feel of Jeonghan’s lips on his and the knowledge that, oh, Jeonghan wants to ask him on a _date._

“Woah!” Jungkook’s drawn out voice comes from right behind them, drunkenly jeering. He parts from Jeonghan to warn him to shut up before he can say anything embarrassing, but Jungkook beats him to it. “You upgraded from the poster, Seungkwannie!”

“Jungkook,” he says standing up and approaching the other boy with intent. “I’m really going to kill you. You’d better start running!”

-

He’s been passionate about his sport since he was young, and he’s always worked hard towards what he wants. With this endeavour, though, he has extra motivation—he has Jeonghan. His idol, his senior, and now his boyfriend and skating partner. Practicing with him goes well, but he finds himself pulling double the hours to get some practise in on his own time, too, out of the watchful eye of Jimin and the very handsome, somewhat intimidating presence of Jeonghan.

His Ma is happy with his new path of work. He comes in every day tired, but invigorated, and she sees him as being back on his feet, working towards another goal. He wishes he could say he feels the same. They have plenty of time ahead of them, everyone says, but they’re six months into training and still learning new moves; they’ve had to start almost from scratch with everything. They’re nine months into training, and they still haven’t started choreographing a short routine, and it doesn’t seem like they have enough time to perfect everything they need. They’re a year in to training and he’s still struggling, still wondering if Jeonghan has picked the right person, and it starts to be draining.

Jeonghan notices, of course, and brings it up one day. They’re in the gym rather than at the rink, trying to make the overhead lift stable before they bring it onto the ice. Seungkwan places his hands in Jeonghan’s for the hundredth time, making his arms tense and locking his elbows. He steps up onto Jeonghan’s leg, and from there, Jeonghan can lift him up over his head, holding him there for a twelve second count. They nearly have it, only Seungkwan is shaking with the effort of holding himself in the splits after hours of practising this move. When Jeonghan lets him down again, he nearly stumbles on tired legs.

“Okay, that’s good enough,” Jimin says. “We need to move onto the ice with this one so you can practise landing properly, Seungkwannie. For now, let’s take a break, then move on to the platter lift.”

Seungkwan drops back onto one of the thick mats, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His arms feel wobbly with the effort of the lift; he can’t imagine how tired Jeonghan must be.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says, dropping beside him onto the mat. “You’re doing well.”

“Really?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows. “Because this makes me feel like a rookie all over again.”

“Well, you are,” Jeonghan responds. “This is new turf, after all.”

“New old turf,” Seungkwan corrects. “We’re nailing the synchronised stuff. It’s the lifts that are stupidly hard.”

“You’re right. We are nailing the synchronised stuff. I want to hear more positivity like that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Who are you? My mother?”

“I could never be as delightful as that wonderful woman,” Jeonghan smiles. “But I can love you just as much as she does.”

Seungkwan cringes, rolling over away from him in disgust. “Have you always been this cheesy?”

“Only as long as you’ve been in my life, sweetie-pie.”

“Please never call me that again.”

“My sweet cheeks.”

“Nor that.”

“Baby angel.”

“Oh my God,” he says, pushing himself off the mat, but he can’t fight the smile on his face. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“But angel cakes!” Jeonghan calls, a hand over his heart. “I’ve been perfecting my triple axel just for you!”

“Call me another name like that and you’ll be skating this routine in the singles, I swear!”

“Absolutely not,” Jimin says firmly, approaching them both with bottles of water. “I’m not hearing nonsense like that on my rink, even if it is a joke. Is that clear?”

“We’re not on a rink,” Seungkwan points out.

“Is that clear?” Jimin asks again, eyes boring into him.

“Yes sir,” he says, mimicking a salute.

“Loud and clear,” Jeonghan agrees, taking a water from him.

They look at each other, suppressing a laugh like children sharing a joke.

“Good,” Jimin says firmly. “Get ready for the platter lift, boys. If you liked the lasso lift, you’re going to love this one.”

-

He blinks, and two years of time passes putting him in the Olympic stadium, sparkly shirt loose and dark trousers well fitted. He has no reason to be nervous; he knows this routine inside out, down to the second, every move hammered home until he could perform in it in his sleep. So when he steps onto the ice, their names echoing around the stadium as they’re announced, he bites back his fear and takes up their starting positions for the short program. He needs to keep his cool; they have the free skate only hours after this, a longer, more intense routine, more important to their overall score. If they can get the short program out of the way successfully, they’ll go into it with a good score already under their belt. Focus, Seungkwan.

He zones in, retreating within his head, to a space unoccupied. The opening notes of their piece starts, a pretty ornamental song, and his body carries him into the beginning moves, natural after so many hours of practise. There’s a short lift first, then some pretty ice dancing moves, spinning each other as the music builds. Jeonghan comes up behind him, and Seungkwan moves his arms out gracefully. Jeonghan grasps at his hips, lifting him up and holding him there, Seungkwan arching his back and holding that position. When he comes back to the ice flawlessly, he can feel the applause rather than hear it, the rumble of noise seeping through the ice, straight into his bones.

There’s some mirror skating next— a jump sequence they perform in sync, but in different directions, using all the space of the rink. The toe loop, followed by a Lutz, his skates barely coming down onto the ice in between the moves—when he lands, he can’t see Jeonghan, but he knows by the roar of the crowd that they’ve nailed it, the timing perfect. He smiles to himself, moving around to meet Jeonghan again, so that they can go into the last third of the song. The lasso lift, as easy as breathing now, Seungkwan suspended above Jeonghan’s head with only one hand for a good twelve seconds. They spin gently as the crowd cheers, and Seungkwan lands gracefully, one skate on the ice and facing Jeonghan with a smile.

They’re at the last move. The triple axel, in sync. He holds onto Jeonghan’s hand as they skate together up the length of the rink, building momentum, before letting go to take their parallel paths. The initial leap is clean, powerful—he does three rotations, unable to see anything with the speed—and lands in perfect tandem with Jeonghan next to him.

There’s something wrong, though. He lands it, and skates on, coming around with Jeonghan to their finishing position. Only his foot feels like it’s being gripped by an iron hold—the ankle he’d landed on is burning with pain, feels like it might snap in half once he takes his skate off. He keeps the smile on his face, and grips Jeonghan’s hand hard, needing his support to help get him off the ice. If the judges didn’t notice anything, he might have gotten away with a slightly miscalculated landing.

They get to the side of the rink and Jimin meets them in a delighted hug. “That was perfect! I’m so proud of you—come see the scores, you’re going to be happy, I know it!”

He staggers after Jimin, still clinging onto Jeonghan, who looks at him with concern. He shakes his head. “Scores first. I’ll tell you after.”

They sit at the bench in front of the camera, the three of them with eyes glued to the judge’s board. They’re replaying their moves on the screen, and everything is clean, sharp, perfect. Just as they’d practised; it’s everything they’ve worked for. Even the triple axel looks good—it’s only when he looks closely at his left ankle that he can see what he’s done. The blade was at a bad angle when he’d come down—landing toe first instead of flat on the blade, the weight of his body and the momentum of the jump had impacted his foot all wrong. He’s probably twisted it, or torn a muscle, maybe.

He can feel his eyes glazing over as the score pops up onto the screen. He can’t focus on it—his heart rate is increasing, his blood rushing to his ears. They still have the free skate left—it’s worth more points, the routine is harder and longer. He’s going to have to skate it with an injury. He only realises Jeonghan is pulling him away from the bench when he stands up and pain flares up his ankle, and he nearly falls forwards with the shock of it.

“Hey,” Jeonghan looks at him, excitement fading away. “What is it?”

“I need to get to the training room,” he says, and Jeonghan nods, pulling one of his arms over his shoulder. Jimin quickly catches on and helps support him from the other side. No one else is paying attention to them—the Russian skaters have just taken up their position on the ice, their music set to start.

“What’s up?” Jimin asks, and Seungkwan dry heaves in response, still out of breath from the ice and overwhelmed with something like shock. “Oh, fuck—Seungkwan—”

“Maybe we’d better go straight to the medical room,” Jeonghan suggests, turning them down the corridor. There’s medics on the scene at the stadium, ready to rush to anyone’s aid, and an office down the corridor, away from the cameras, for less urgent injuries. It’s not far away, and unoccupied when they enter, the doctor in the room watching the competition on her own.

“Hop up on the table,” she says briskly, leaping into action as soon as she sees them. Jimin and Jeonghan lift him onto the examination table without question.

“Are you going to throw up?” Jimin asks anxiously. “Is it just nerves?”

“It’s your leg, right?” Jeonghan says, already untying the skate on his good ankle.

“It’s my ankle,” he says, gripping the edge of the table. “I didn’t land the axel right— I’ve done something to it.” He sits back and tries not to look as Jimin takes his skate and starts unlacing it carefully. “That fucking triple axel. It’s going to be the death of me.”

“Thank God it was at the end,” Jimin mutters, easing the skate off gently. “Nothing was noticeable to the audience.” Seungkwan scrunches his face up, trying not to whine in pain, and Jeonghan grasps his hand supportively.

When his foot is bare, Jimin takes in a breath through his teeth. The doctor takes his ankle in her hand gently, tilting it and pressing and asking what hurts, can he bend it this way, can he wiggle his toes. It doesn’t really matter. They can all see the swelling beginning already, skin purpling along the side of his foot.

“It’s not a break, but it’s probably a fracture, potentially a torn muscle too. I can wrap it up for you here, and you should rest it for six to eight weeks, keeping it elevated as much as possible. It should heal on its own, but get it checked up by a professional if you have any problems. I hope you’ve finished all your events?”

“No,” Jimin says. “They were only halfway through.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the doctor says. “But congratulations on finishing the first half. I’m sure your supporters will be proud of you.”

“It’s okay, Seungkwannie,” Jeonghan agrees, bringing his forehead against Seungkwan’s. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you. This couldn’t be helped.”

“Do you have any painkillers?” Seungkwan asks the doctor, hoarsely.

“Of course,” she says, digging around in a drawer.

“Good ones?” he asks. “Give me the best you’ve got. I don’t care if you can’t give me the whole packet—give me something strong for now.”

“Alright,” she says, popping out two tablets and tipping them into his hand. “You should be able to go down to regular painkillers after twenty-four hours, but you can come back to me if it gets worse.”

He downs them without water, one after the other. “Thanks. Can someone get my skate back on? I need the support.”

“We’ll just carry you out,” Jimin says. “We can go back to the hotel—we don’t need to be here now.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, already pulling his skate onto his good foot. “We’ve still got the free skate to do. We’re on in less than two hours.” He turns to the doctor. “Those painkillers will last that long, right?”

“I’m going to have to advise against that,” she says, frowning at him. “The fracture isn’t too bad, but if you skate on it, you could give yourself long-term damage.”

“Seungkwan, it’s not worth it,” Jimin says firmly.

“It’s not worth it?” he says, turning on Jimin. “Are you sure about that? Coming in last place for the second competition in a row? Letting myself down again? Letting down everyone else who’s relied on me?”

“None of that is worth permanently injuring yourself,” Jimin says sternly. “Don’t prioritise your pride over your health.”

“He’s right,” Jeonghan says, speaking softer than Seungkwan has ever heard him speak before. “Think about yourself first.”

“I am thinking about myself. I’m thinking about how I’ll regret this for the rest of my life if I don’t go out there and at least try.” He looks up at Jeonghan, clutching his hand. He can see him wavering. It’s his last competition, probably ever—he knows he wants that medal so badly, knows they can do it after their amazing score from the short program.

The ice calls out to them, and who are they to say no?

“Seungkwan,” he says, hesitating. “It’s too hard. There’s no way you can do the throw jump like that—"

“Then we’ll take out the throw jump. That move would put the most pressure on my ankle, so we can go straight from the salchow into the camel spin instead, do some pretty spins to fill the time or something. We can still get a good score without it.” He realises he’s clutching at Jeonghan’s shirt desperately. “We can still finish this.”

“Seungkwan, you can’t,” Jimin insists.

“We’ve got two hours to fix the routine,” Seungkwan says, ignoring him. “Do you want us to win?”

“I want us to win,” Jeonghan says. “Do you think you can you do it?”

“I know I can,” he says.

Jeonghan nods once. “Then let’s do it,” he says, scooping up the other skate.

The painkillers are good, dulling the pain for a while as they rearrange the routine. They don’t have a rink to practise on, and they can’t do it on the ground for the sake of keeping the pressure off Seungkwan’s ankle, so they’re going to have to wing it on the ice. Jimin thinks they’re mad, and spends the next two hours muttering under his breath about them—altering a routine last minute, skating on a fresh injury. Seungkwan, on the other hand, feels more invigorated than ever. He thinks Jeonghan’s taste for risk is spreading.

Their names are called as they go out to the ice. His ankle aches as he pushes out into the rink, complaining under his weight, but it doesn’t hurt as badly as it did before. He takes up his position in front of Jeonghan and centres himself, waiting for the music to start. He can do this. He’s going to win.

The music begins, and he’s swept along by it immediately. His ankle groans at the action, demanding attention, but it’s easy to ignore at first. They begin with a lift, and he comes down on his good ankle, right as planned, speeding ahead on the ice as the audience applaud them. Next is a little patterned dance to build them up into the quad salchow jump, which is a hard move, and Jeonghan had tried to take that out of the routine too, as they land on his bad ankle. Seungkwan had refused. Without the throw jump, they need the salchow in there to get them their points. They take off in time, spin together, and land in perfect sync. Seungkwan can feel himself wobble on his skate as pain shoots up his ankle, newly sharp—there’ll be a deduction for the bad landing, but he can take that. He had been worried he wouldn’t land it at all.

Next is the improvised part—some more dance steps to fill the gap where the throw jump is supposed to be. They’d agreed on simple spins that Jeonghan can lead him into, that can look intentional despite being never rehearsed before. Jeonghan goes easy on him, twirling him a few times before continuing. The camel spin is another one he’s confident in—having his ankle in the air is easier than having it on the ice. Keeping himself centred, he can’t see Jeonghan as he spins, but knows they pull it off well when the audience cheer in appreciation.

The last move is coming up; a star lift. Seungkwan spins into Jeonghan so that he can clutch his shoulders as Jeonghan grasps his hips, hoisting him sideways into the air. Then one hand comes down, and Seungkwan puts one of his in the air, and he’s suspended, Jeonghan spinning gracefully beneath him. The audience cheer, and Jeonghan handles him back down. The strain of keeping his leg straight in the air doesn’t pair well with a heavy landing back on the ice—he falters again as pain spikes up his ankle, leg shaking and he’s forced to bend low to the ice in an attempt to maintain balance. He manages to keep his body off the ice, though, which means the deduction won’t be big, and he doesn’t lose much time with Jeonghan. There are some straightforward twizzles to finish, spinning as the music comes to an end, stopping in time with the final note. He’s able to hold the end position for all of a second before he bends down to clutch at his ankle, the rush of blood in his ears too loud to hear the audience applaud, the thumping in his head too much for him to try and right himself.

It’s okay, though. Jeonghan helps him up again with one hand to his back, guiding him from the ice carefully by skating close to him with an arm looped around his waist.

“You okay?” he says in a low voice.

“Never better,” Seungkwan wheezes.

“You’ve done so well,” Jeonghan says, bringing him into a hug.

As soon as his cheeks meet the material of his soft shirt, he can feel the warm tears on his face. He hadn’t realised he was crying. “I did it,” he says, tasting the salt in his mouth. It’s like his senses are filtering in, one by one—the sound of the crowd comes next, many on their feet to applaud for them enthusiastically.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jeonghan says, picking him up in his arms and spinning him around.

“I love you,” Seungkwan chokes, holding him back just as hard.

“I love you too,” he replies, planting a kiss to each cheek.

They come in second place, because the Russian performers had been flawless. Seungkwan couldn’t care less; this is so much better than dropping out, miles better than coming in last. Even if Jimin treats him like glass once he comes off the ice, even if he’s mostly leaning on Jeonghan at the podium, even if it’s not gold, he’s happy. They’ve shown the world what they can do, and made their country proud. Most importantly, he’s made Jeonghan proud. He’s made himself proud.

They bow to the woman handing out the medals as best they can, with Seungkwan’s ankle layered in bandages—she smiles at them kindly anyway. When she moves on to the gold medallists, Seungkwan picks up the medal in his palm, runs a thumb over it with a huge smile fixed to his face.

“What’s that?” Jeonghan asks. “Did you bruise yourself there?”

“Where?”

Jeonghan moves the medal from Seungkwan’s palm, letting it drop back against his chest. There, printed onto his palm, is the picture of a blue and yellow flower, exotic and bright against his skin.

“Woah!” he breathes, staring, then quickly picks up Jeonghan’s hand in his own. In the same place on his palm, there’s a chrysanthemum, deep red and shiny with sweat. “Hyung, it’s our marks!”

“Oh,” Jeonghan says, and for the first time in three years, Seungkwan sees him speechless.

The announcer is saying their names again, but Seungkwan barely pays attention to the camera in front of them, instead clasping Jeonghan’s hand in his own and smiling. The crane flower and chrysanthemum flower nestled together, he leans in to give him a kiss, before the camera moves onto the gold winners.

“I guess we did win after all,” he whispers, and Jeonghan can’t help but laugh, pressing a giddy kiss to the back of Seungkwan’s hand and sweeping him into his arms, carrying him back down from the podium bridal style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strelitzia/crane flower/birds of paradise flower: success and magnificence
> 
> au inspired by [this skater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bNOnXTe4Ok&t=5s) who picked a younger partner for her last competition, [this guy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=23EfsN7vEOA&t=11s) who won gold on an ankle injury, and yuri on ice, kind of, as i definitley used some plot points from it though ive never seen the show before (thanks nishi for giving me a brief plot overview of that)  
> also seungkwan insisting on performing at music bank with an injured ankle,, u fool i love u but pls take care
> 
> knowledge of the moves in this fic came from videos like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f156Bvu2Ubs&t=8s) and binging a bunch of ice skating performances, so again, apologies to people who have actual real knowledge of ice skating things


	11. HVC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): arranged marriage, mild homophobia, warfare & fighting, imprisonment, mention of an execution/hanging

“Going out again, Prince Seungkwan?” Sir Jaesang calls from the castle steps. Seungkwan pulls at the reins to slow his horse, and Hansol does the same behind him, waiting patiently for his lead. “Do you need accompanying?”

“I think we’ll be just fine, Hyung,” Seungkwan responds. Sir Jaesang is one of the older knights, and Seungkwan knows he has a massive soft spot for him, as the youngest in the royal family. Technically, he’s not supposed to ride out without a party, or at least a few soldiers, but as long as he doesn’t stray too far from the castle, no one scolds him too badly. “I enjoy hunting practise a lot, these days. I wouldn’t want to draw you away from your duties.”

“I’m sure your manservant is delighted as ever,” Sir Jaesang remarks, raising an eyebrow.

“I live to serve,” Hansol cheerfully calls in agreement, a teasing smile in his voice. Seungkwan turns in his saddle to make watchful gestures towards him.

“I won’t keep you any longer, then,” Sir Jaesang calls, waving them on. “Try to bring back at least a rabbit this time, Your Highness.”

“I’ll do my best!” Seungkwan calls, and starts riding down the main road again, Hansol’s horse clopping right behind him. Once they’re out of the city walls and onto the forest path, they can bring up the speed, galloping away from the eyes of the townspeople to find a glade to settle at.

They ride for less than an hour, long enough that the horses need a rest but not too far that they can’t gallop back to the castle if necessary. Hansol unmounts his horse to unload their packs as Seungkwan rides once around the area, making sure it’s secure.

“Seems good,” he calls out, unmounting his own horse and knotting the rein to a secure tree branch.

“As expected of your scouting, Your Highness,” Hansol calls back, setting out the packs of food on their blanket.

“Hey, there’s no one around. You can stop calling me that now.”

“Alright, my Prince.”

“I’m serious. I’m not your Prince out here. Let me be your boyfriend.”

“Fine,” Hansol says, smiling as he lays down on the blanket. “Does that make us equals?”

“Always,” Seungkwan says, coming over to sit and pick up the basket of berries.

“In that case, will you feed me?”

Seungkwan eyes him where he’s laid out on his back, looking up at him with a cheeky smirk on his face. The glade around them is peaceful, only the birds and the trees for company.

“I said I’m your boyfriend, not your slave. Your hands work, don’t they?”

“But I’m so tired from the ride, Seungkwan. Partners feed each other out of affection, not duty,” Hansol says, pouting at him. “Just one berry?”

Seungkwan makes a show of rolling his eyes and sighing, though he can’t stop the smile from pulling at his mouth. “Okay. If you insist.” He unlatches the basket of berries and pops one into Hansol’s mouth, running his thumb lightly along his bottom lip as he pulls away.

Hansol slowly chews on the berry, watching Seungkwan unfalteringly. “Thank you.”

“No problem, boyfriend. Is it my turn?”

Hansol sits up and takes the basket from him, grinning with all his teeth. “Sure is. Open up.”

He opens his mouth and Hansol places a berry on his tongue. Seungkwan makes sure to get some of the purple juice on his lips before he leans in to kiss him, satisfied with the purple stain he leaves behind on Hansol’s mouth.

“Are you planning to actually hunt anything today? Or are we here to make out all afternoon?” Hansol asks between kisses.

Seungkwan hums. “I mean, I probably need to bring something back. But isn’t this way more fun?”

“People will start getting suspicious if we keep disappearing together for hours on end with nothing to show for it.”

He shrugs. “Don’t they already talk?”

“Yes, but you’re not helping things.”

He looks up at him sharply. “Does anyone in the castle mistreat you over it?”

Hansol shakes his head. “I think the other servants are scared of me, more than anything. Because they know we’re close.”

Seungkwan runs a hand through Hansol’s hair floppy brown hair and rubs gently at the back of his neck. “As long as you’re okay, then it’s fine. We should do what we want, while we can. And I want to be with you.”

“Why do you say that?” Hansol asks, peering over at him. “What we want, while we can?”

He shifts and sighs. “My father has started talking about arranging a marriage with one of the Princesses of Wessex. It was always only a matter of time; I’m the only one of my siblings unmarried, now.”

“Ah,” Hansol says.

“Yeah. I don’t like it either, but I can’t run away from my duty. It was never realistic to imagine my father might let me marry a servant boy, as much as I wish I could request for it, Hansol.”

He nods and turns to face Seungkwan with resigned eyes. “It’s okay. We both knew this was coming eventually.”

Seungkwan rolls over to prop himself up on his elbows and kiss Hansol again. “Let’s not think of that now. I have you here now, and I’m going to make the most of it.”

-

“Seungkwan?” Hansol says from across the table. Technically, servants aren’t supposed to eat with members of the royal family, but they’re the only two in the room. It’s not like anyone will know.

“Yes?” he responds, wiping his fingers clean. Hansol is usually the first to finish his plate, hungry from his day’s work, but today he’s mostly pushing his food around. He’s been twitchy and quiet since dawn, even though they’d spent most of the day resting in the bedroom together, working on some formal documents Seungkwan had to oversee.

“I need to tell you something,” he says. He can barely meet Seungkwan’s eyes.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange all day.” He stands and rounds the table to take a seat next to his manservant. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look flushed.” He puts his hand to Hansol’s forehead to check his temperature.

He shakes his head, gently pulling Seungkwan’s hand away. “I’ve been keeping something from you for a long time. I haven’t told anyone since I arrived in Mercia, ten years ago.”

Seungkwan levels him with confused look. They’ve been lovers for years now; he thought he’d known everything about him, every secret, every inch of his body and mind. “Hansol?”

“Please don’t be angry with me. I was hiding it for my safety—it’s not that I don’t trust you, but I was scared. I’ve been told to hide it since I was a kid.”

“Hansol, what is it?”

He takes a deep breath and faces Seungkwan, rubbing his sweaty hands on his trousers. “I have magic.”

Seungkwan stares at him, frozen in his chair. “You what?”

“I’ve had it ever since I was born—I can’t get rid of it, but I’ve learned how to control it. I swear, it’s not dangerous when you know what you’re doing—and I’ve never hurt anyone, it’s not evil like all the old stories say—”

“You’re a sorcerer,” Seungkwan says. He feels numb all over, staring at him in disbelief. How has he hidden something so huge? How has he gone undetected in Mercia for ten years, walking around with magic in his veins? Hansol reaches out for Seungkwan’s hand, and he tries not to flinch away. By the look on Hansol’s face, he’s not entirely successful. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I love you,” he says, earnestly. “And I want to be completely honest with you.”

Seungkwan pauses, sitting back in his chair and thinking. Hansol was right to be scared; he would’ve been executed if anyone had found out he was a sorcerer. But the only reason it’s banned in all five Kingdoms is because of the evil capabilities of it, the power one sorcerer can hold against an army of men. “Answer me something, then. Honestly.”

“Of course. That’s all I want.”

“Have you ever used magic on me?”

Hansol is quiet for a moment, and he can feel is heart sinking. He doesn’t want to believe that Hansol has ever enchanted him, or that anything they’ve shared together has been false, but his silence is deafening.

“There was one time,” he says eventually. “When you had that sickness last winter, and the court physician didn’t know how to treat you. You were getting worse every day, until you fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up. I never want to use my magic on someone without them knowing, but I knew I couldn’t forgive myself if you’d died and I’d never tried to heal you.” Hansol presses his lips together and swallows nervously. “I laid my hands on you and tried to direct my magic into your body, to heal anything I could. You woke up two days later.”

Seungkwan blinks. “You mean… you saved my life?”

Hansol’s cheeks are pink. “I mean—I helped you recover, yes. I think so.”

“And you’ve never hurt anyone with your magic?”

Hansol shakes his head firmly. “Never.”

Seungkwan stands up from his chair, pulling Hansol with him, and embraces him in a tight hug. “Then I trust you.”

Hansol brings his hands up around his back, holding him like he’s fragile, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to. “You do?”

He pulls back and nods, rubbing gently at his arms. “I’ve never met a sorcerer in person. I’ve only ever heard the old stories, and we both know my father can be bigoted and foolish.” He runs a hand through Hansol’s soft hair, and it comforts him. He’s still the same boy he’s in love with. “I trust you more than I trust him. If you say it’s not dangerous, I believe you.”

Hansol brings a shaky hand up to his face, using his hands to cover his eyes for a moment then laughing shakily. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” Seungkwan says, leaning in to kiss him once. “Will you… show me some magic?”

Hansol nods and steps back, floundering for a moment before he cups his hands together. He closes his eyes, and blows into his palms, and from his breath a flame licks into life, resting in the cradle of his cupped hands.

“Wow,” Seungkwan gasps, stepping closer to see it. The flame twists and grows until it’s taken on the shape of a dragon, no bigger than his fist, flapping its ashy wings and hovering above Hansol’s hands.

Seungkwan looks up to Hansol’s face to see he’s already watching him with a smile. The brown of his iris is glowing gold as he channels his power into the fire.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes. This is magic? Why has it been outlawed all this time if it’s as gentle and breath-taking as this?

“Thank you,” Hansol replies, gesturing his hands up and breaking them apart. The flame dragon takes off, flapping above their heads and doing a round of the stately bedroom. It comes to rest on the wick of a candle, curls up until it takes the form of an ordinary flame again, flickering in the dim light of the room.

Seungkwan watches its path, then turns back to Hansol. “Have you been using magic to run your errands this whole time?”

Hansol scratches the back of his head. “It helps, sometimes, when I’m tired. I try to be careful about it, though. It’s not worth getting found over.”

“No wonder you can do the work of two manservants! I knew you were too good to be true. Have you ever used magic in bed with me?”

“No!” he splutters. “I told you! I don’t use magic on other people if I can help it!” He’s blushing pink in the cheeks, and Seungkwan smirks, starts pulling him towards his four-poster bed in the middle of the room.

“If there’s one place you should use magic, Hansol…” he says, pushing him into sitting on the bed. “You have my full permission to use it here.”

-

Their soulmate marks appear the next day, and it gives Seungkwan more of a crisis than the magic thing did. He’d already known that he’s in love with Hansol, of course, but to have the visual confirmation, to have a blue delphinium blooming just below his right collarbone for anyone to see? It makes him worry.

He goes about his duties as if nothing has changed, though, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. It’ll be impossible to hide this from his future wife; he’ll have to spin some story about it, and he hates that idea. He hates that he and this Princess have to marry at all, for the sake of alliances, for the sake of the family line, when they’d both be happier with someone they could actually choose.

Hansol looks at the red chrysanthemum in the mirror with sad eyes, touching it gently with his fingertips. Seungkwan comes behind him, hooking a chin over his shoulder and a hand around his waist, looking at the reflection of the two of them together. A perfect couple, maybe, in another life, where princes can marry servants. Where revealing this soulmate mark wouldn’t be dangerous for Hansol, who was never supposed to fall in love with the Prince.

In another life, maybe.

-

His father tells him over breakfast only two weeks later that his marriage to Princess Yoona has been arranged for the end of the month. He takes Hansol out for a ride that day and kisses him hard in the privacy of the forest, their second home, their safe place. They settle by the riverbank and talk, and Seungkwan cries, and Hansol holds him.

“Princess Yoona is third in line to the throne of Wessex,” he explains, head on Hansol’s chest and fingers intertwined with his. “Which means she has a higher status than me. I’m going to have to go and live in Wessex with her.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, and his hand rubbing Seungkwan’s back slows to a halt.

“I won’t even be able to see you,” he says, almost a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want this, Hansol. Can’t we run away together?”

Hansol gives him a small smile. “And do what? Are you going to become a farmer? I don’t think you’d last two days.”

Seungkwan swipes at his arm. “No! I’d be a hunter, obviously. We’ve had so much practise together, after all.”

“Right, my bad,” Hansol says, patting him reassuringly.

“And you can practise your magic to protect us from all the bandits, and we could set up a little cottage in the woods somewhere…”

“You have a very romantic view of being a runaway.”

“Better than being stuck in a foreign kingdom for the rest of my life so that my father can make new alliances,” Seungkwan mutters. “You know, the first time I meet Princess Yoona will be our wedding day? I know the idea is that we learn to love each other afterwards, but don’t you think it’s a little too much?”

“Yeah,” Hansol answers honestly. “I do. But we both know you can’t run away from what you were born into. Believe me, trying to pretend it isn’t there is harder.”

-

His oldest sister, Sojeong, comes to visit him on his wedding day, whilst Hansol is helping him get dressed into formal ceremony robes. There’s an awful lot of parts to it, straps and jewels and a ceremonial sword, complete with a Prince’s crown, and he feels exhausted before the wedding has even begun.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, straightening his collar minutely as Hansol works on tying up his boots.

“Scared,” he says, honestly. “How are things out there?”

“Wessex brought way too many guests, so Father is twitchy, and our organisers are in a frenzy trying to adjust the seating plan in the Great Hall.” She sighs and shrugs, as if this is part and parcel of marriage. “Your Princess is very beautiful, though.”

“Is she nervous too?”

“Less so than you,” Sojeong says, giving him a knowing smile. “But wedding days are nerve wracking for everyone.”

He nods. “Noona? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Seungkwannie.”

“Do you have your soulmate mark yet? From your marriage?”

Sojeong looks at him and puts a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Yes. They do come, Kwan, with time and patience. I’m certain you’ll be able to make it work with her.”

“How long did it take?”

“Five years.”

His and Hansol’s had only taken three, from the time they’d started dating.

“And you’re happy?” he asks. Hansol stands up, finally done with the boots, and heads over to the case holding the crown.

“Really happy, dongsaeng,” she smiles, cupping his cheek briefly. He can feel the weight of the crown being placed carefully on the top of his head, and then Hansol steps back, done with his work. “Look at you. So grown up. You look so handsome.”

“Thanks, Noona,” he says, turning to look in the mirror. He barely recognises himself, hidden under the royal furs and careful hair styling.

She leaves shortly after that, and some other servants and officials come in and out, checking his outfit or going over the ceremony procedures or generally wishing him well. Sir Jaesang comes to give him a hug. He tries to remember a time his father has ever hugged him; he hasn’t even seen his father properly in days. He hasn’t come to check on him. They’re due to set off to Wessex early morning tomorrow, and he hasn’t even come to say goodbye.

Hansol is the only one who stays at his side through it all, quiet and subdued but there, nonetheless. Is this all worth it? Is it worth giving him up for the will of a man who’s using him as a political pawn?

He has no choice. He’s doing it for his people, and for the sake of peace with Wessex. It’s the duty he was born with. And one he has to die with.

The Great Hall is beautifully decorated for the wedding, decorations strung between pillars and ornamental seats teeming with people; it’s a little suffocating as his mother walks him down the aisle to stand at the altar. She squeezes his hand in comfort before leaving to take her seat beside his father. Seungkwan stands there, staring at the grand ornamental window opposite him, feeling the room of guests staring at his back as they wait for the Princess.

After an excruciating wait, he can hear the doors opening again, can tell Princess Yoona is walking down the aisle towards him. His hands are sweating under the thick gloves, and he hopes it isn’t visible on his face. He knows Hansol is watching from the back of the room; he’d slipped in after Seungkwan had been announced. He wishes he’d asked for a burst of magical confidence, or something. Anything to squash down the approaching dread.

Finally, Princess Yoona reaches him. Sojeong was truthful; she’s beautiful, even behind the veil, even under the huge white dress she’s somehow managed to walk down the aisle in. When she reaches the altar he turns to look at her, and she does the same, shoots him a small, nervous smile. He smiles back, and they stand together, waiting for the music to stop, for the priest to start talking and seal their fates.

“Dearly beloved, we have come together in the House of Mercia, so that in the presence of the Royal Minister, your intention to enter into marriage may be strengthened by two Kings with a sacred seal.” The minister bows to each King respectfully, seated at each side of the room. “May your love be enriched with this blessing, so that you may have strength to be faithful to each other and assume all the responsibilities of married life. And so, in the presence of the Royal House of Mercia, I ask you to state your intentions.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?” The priest looks up at Seungkwan, and he tries to say his affirmation with the confidence he doesn’t feel.

“I am,” he says.

“I am,” Princess Yoona agrees.

“Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God, and to bring them up according to the morals of your Kingdom?”

“I am.”

“I am.”

“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Righteous Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and the House of Mercia.”

Seungkwan turns to take her hands, and she turns to do the same. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to say his vows, he’s startled by the bang of the Great Hall doors being flung open at the other end of the room. It’s the Captain of the Watchmen, one of the few officials attending to their posts rather than the wedding.

“Your highness!” she calls, her voice filling the room and causing the guests to stir uncomfortably at the interruption. “We have an invasion at the southern border! A Wessex army is advancing on the city wall!”

The scene abruptly descends into chaos. His father stands at the same time as the King of Wessex, who has his sword drawn, marching towards the Mercia royal family with aggressive intent. Seungkwan doesn’t have time to intercept him, because the rest of the room leaps into action at the same time—including Princess Yoona.

From somewhere under the skirts of her dress, she pulls out a dagger and slashes at him with a strong, wide swing. The knife cuts into his robes, but he doesn’t feel much impact from the blow; he suspects the layers of clothing are his saving grace. He reels back at first, but quickly recovers, pulling out his ceremonial sword and levelling it at her throat. Several of the Wessex Knights are already by him, ready to protect their Princess, though Seungkwan has no intention of killing her. He can only fathom this attack has been orchestrated by her father—the two of them are nothing but the tickets to the party. Or in this case, to the invasion.

He readily engages the first knight in combat, blocking his sword blows quickly. He’s aware that he’s at a disadvantage without any proper armour on, and tries to keep him at a distance, but when a second knight starts advancing, he knows he needs help. He can’t keep them both away for long. Sojeong, his saving grace, is at his side in seconds, leaping to his rescue by distracting the first knight with her own sword-fighting, giving Seungkwan space to focus on the second. The Wessex guests had clearly come dressed ready for this, with all of them in some sort of ceremonial armour, the knights head to toe in protective gear; his opponent won’t be easily taken down with the blade alone. Seungkwan feigns left but moves right, distracting the knight long for him to get close, using the hilt of his sword to bludgeon his helmet, hard. It sends him to the floor and gives Seungkwan time to dash off towards his family, Princess Yoona long gone from sight.

As expected, his family members are each holding their own fights well. Even his old father is engaged in a heated battle with the King of Wessex—Seungkwan daren’t join in for fear of distracting him. Sojeong appears at his side, grabbing at his arm.

“Get out of here! They’ll need help at the border—we’ll sort this out here!”

He nods, pushing through the crowd to find Hansol in the chaos of people. He’d been thinking the same, but the affirmation from his sister was enough to validate him; get Hansol, get out, oversee an army to defend border. Help his people.

Hansol isn’t where Seungkwan had seen him last, standing at the back of the room—the other servants there have fled, but he knows Hansol won’t have done the same. Not with the power he holds. A new fear grips him—Hansol is strong enough to defend himself, but if he reveals his magic here, it will make him a major target, for both sides. All five Kingdoms have a deep-rooted fear of sorcery; his loyalty to Mercia wouldn’t matter in the face of a power like that.

“Hansol!” he cries out, hoping to grab his attention, wherever he is. He only gets the attention of a nearby Lord from Wessex, who swipes at him with his weapon upon recognition. Seungkwan parries quickly before slashing right back, making contact, and the Lord falls back ungracefully. Seungkwan leaves him there and begins pushing through the crowd again, until he sees it—a familiar mess of brown hair. Hansol is headed towards the altar, where the fight between the royal families is playing out; perhaps to try and find Seungkwan, perhaps to try and help his family. Either way, Seungkwan needs to get him out of there, pushing at and parrying away other Wessex guests in his attempt to reach him.

Finally, he puts a hand on Hansol’s shoulder, who whips around. “Seungkwan!”

“We need to go,” he says urgently, pulling at him.

“Wait,” is all Hansol says, before stepping back in the wrong direction, towards the alter.

Seungkwan tugs at his shirt sharply. “We need to go!” he repeats.

Hansol isn’t listening; he’s watching the King of Wessex in his attack on Seungkwan’s father. His blows are strong, precise, and his father can barely parry one before the next comes—he’s tiring out quickly, not getting any strikes in. In one particularly powerful swing, the King of Wessex twists his blade so that his father’s sword is flung out of his hand, leaving him defenceless. The King of Wessex pulls back to deliver the killing blow, to take his father’s head clean off. Seungkwan goes to leap in, but he knows he can’t get there fast enough. Everyone around them is occupied with their own fights—he’s about to watch his father die, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Just as the blade approaches his throat, the King’s blow slows right down, like he’s trying to move through honey. His whole body, thrown into the power of the blow, is suspended in a battle stance, barely moving, suspended there. Seungkwan releases the breath he was holding and moves forwards quickly to knock the sword out of his hand. It clatters across the room, and the King of Wessex remains still, frozen in position. He looks back at his father, but his father doesn’t look at him. He’s looking in the other direction, and Seungkwan follows his gaze to see his soulmate standing there, eyes glowing gold, hand gestured out towards the King of Wessex. He’d done this. He’d saved his father’s life.

His father regains his bearings quickly, picking up his sword and securing the King of Wessex in a prisoner’s hold. Now they really need to get out of here.

“Come on,” Seungkwan says, manhandling Hansol back through the room and out through the Great Hall doors. As they push through the people, a blade or two comes their way, but bounces right back off them without leaving so much as a bruise. When he looks back, Hansol’s eyes are still glowing—he’s still trying to protect Seungkwan and his family, even as Seungkwan pulls him away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Seungkwan says as soon as they’re out of the Great Hall. It’s no less busy out here, with guests running out and soldiers running in, bodies and the injured laid around the hallway. There’s no time to stop, though, as he pulls Hansol down the grand staircase, headed out towards the courtyard.

“What? Saving his life? Helping the fight?” Hansol answers, running along with him.

“You’re going to get yourself killed! You shouldn’t be fighting!” Seungkwan says.

“If I can help save lives—your life, Seungkwan! Then yes, I will be fighting!”

They push through the door into the courtyard and stop at the sight before them—the soldiers are bustling about, getting into the emergency formation, pulling on their armour and running around to find their battle positions. Only there’s no generals or knights to lead them to the border—they’re all back in the Great Hall, fighting the generals and knights from Wessex.

“Hansol,” Seungkwan says, argument forgotten. “Go and get my horse.”

“Yes, sir,” he answers without hesitation, running down the courtyard stairs towards the stables.

“Soldiers!” Seungkwan calls out, and the men snap to attention, the alarmed chattering dying out immediately. “We have an invasion at the southern border. Take up your positions of defence immediately, and ready for battle.”

“Yes sir!” the soldiers chorus back, and start adjusting each other’s armour, some running off to the armoury to pick up the necessary weaponry for an invasion rather than an attack; the archers swapping out bows for swords, the knights going for rounded shields rather than tall ones. Hansol comes jogging back into the courtyard, pulling his horse by her reins, and Seungkwan runs down the steps to join him. He pats her once before mounting her, reaching a hand out to help Hansol up onto the saddle behind him.

“What was that about me not fighting?” Hansol asks in his ear, wrapping his hands around Seungkwan’s middle.

“As long as you keep your distance, I’ve decided you can be somewhat helpful,” Seungkwan replies, before drawing his sword to grab the soldiers’ attention again, now in their battle formation, watching him. “For Mercia!” he shouts.

“For Mercia!” they cry back, and Seungkwan pulls at the reins to lead his horse out through the castle doors, riding down the main street towards the south border, the sound of quick marching following him.

It’s not hard to find the point of invasion—they follow the smoke, where a series of houses have been set on fire, the villagers fleeing for their lives. He orders for every bucket of water, every pig trough seen on their way to be picked up and brought to the scene. They can’t let the fire spread further, into the heavily populated part of town.

Though Mercia has a huge number of soldiers, Seungkwan hadn’t been able to rally their full army, just those on site at the castle grounds. He can see villagers joining the fight, though, eager to protect their Kingdom, and he hopes it’s enough to pull their weight. Mercia has always been bigger and wealthier than Wessex—hence the invasion on his wedding day, he supposes—and despite being the ones invading, Wessex don’t have good generals directing the soldiers. He suspects all the best ones are in the Great Hall, fighting there to try and ensure the death of the Mercian royal family. Seungkwan, however, has been trained in sword fighting and leadership work since he was young boy, and takes on the role swiftly, giving out directions to his men, calling out instructions that carry back through the lines. Before long, Sir Jaesang comes out to join him too, helping direct the men and take down enemy soldiers. Seungkwan is glad to see him alive.

He didn’t have time to get into proper armour, so he stays on his horse, the elevation and the protective barrier Hansol is providing giving him enough of an advantage over any approaching enemy. When he feels Hansol shifting behind him, trying to dismount the saddle, he grabs at his wrist, tight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, booting a soldier in the face.

“I can help stop the fire, but not from here,” Hansol says urgently. Seungkwan looks over to see the fire still burning, spreading between the wooden village houses far too quickly. “Let me help.”

He clings onto him for a second, not wanting to let him go, but logic quickly wins over. He needs to use his men to the best of their ability—if Hansol has the power to save lives, he needs to let him do it.

“Okay,” he says, loosening his grip. “Be safe.”

Hansol steps down from the horse and sprints away in the direction of the fire. Seungkwan lets him go with a long look, before riding back into battle.

The battle rages on for hours. The blood and dirt on everyone’s armour and the amount of remnant smoke in the air makes it hard to distinguish who’s winning. He sees the main general from the opposing side fall, his horse cut from under him, and catches the Mercian Captain of the Guard racing past him to join the fight. Surely that means the situation at the castle is under control, then. That his family and beloved members of the court are alive.

He can only hope.

The Wessex army finally surrender at nightfall. They know they can’t continue fighting into the night, and there’s nowhere left to go—Seungkwan had managed to direct a formation of soldiers that could contain the Wessex men where they were, not allowing them to pass further along the border. He’s sweaty, and tired, and not without a few cuts and scrapes, but he thanks his lucky stars that he’s even managed to get to the end of the day alive. He watches as prisoners are taken, as the injured are picked up, as villagers bring water and aid to the soldiers. He rides around and waits for Hansol to spot him, to come back to him with a smile on his face and say, _still think I’ll get myself killed?_

He doesn’t, though. Seungkwan hangs back as long as he can, until the last of the soldiers are being dragged back to the castle for treatment. There’s no Hansol. He might have been taken back with the injured earlier, he thinks. The thought doesn’t comfort him much.

Back at the castle, he unmounts his horse and leads her to the stables for her well-deserved rest before heading back to the courtyard. The royal physician tries to check him over, but he waves him away, directing him to the men who are much more in need of attention than him.

“Sir,” a harried servant boy says, running up to his side. “The King demands your presence in the Great Hall.”

Seungkwan sighs. He’s tempted to say no, to look around for Hansol more, sick with worry every second he doesn’t know where he is, but he knows not to aggravate the situation more. His father must be furious—he’d rather not face his wrath after further disobedience, after all this.

He trudges up the grand staircase towards the Great Hall. It’s much emptier than when he’d left it earlier, but in more disarray than he’s ever seen it. The chairs are in pieces, shattered from sword blows and fallen soldiers, the decorations torn and scattered around the room. Above it all, his father sits on his throne, looking thunderous, watching a pair of guards opposite him. They’re holding a boy between them, on his knees with his hands restrained behind his back.

Hansol.

“Father?” he asks, but he’s staring at his soulmate. Hansol looks right back at him, then looks at the King, and Seungkwan does the same. “What is this?”

“I hear you lead our men well at the border, my son,” his father says. “And fought diligently. That you drove Wessex to their eventual surrender.”

Seungkwan stands completely still. “I did, Father.”

“Very good. You’ve shown an act of great loyalty to your country today, son. You’ve served your royal duty; protecting your people, and defending the House of Mercia.”

Seungkwan bows stiffly. “Thank you, Father.”

Sojeong is sitting off to the side holding her arm, looking weary and grim, but watching their exchange nonetheless.

“However, your attitude towards the sorcerer boy shows great defiance of Mercia’s morals and integrity. I hear you were witness to more magic from this sorcerer down at the border,” his father continues, gesturing to Hansol. “How long have you known about him?”

“He saved lives down there. Stopped the destruction of buildings. I’ve known about his magic for some weeks now, and today has proved to me that protecting him was the right thing to do.”

His father surveys him with a dark look. He hasn’t moved from his throne for their whole exchange. “I see. We will be discussing your actions after an arrangement has been organised with Wessex. For now, the sorcerer is to be executed first thing in the morning.”

“What?” he says. The guards holding Hansol haul him to his feet and turn to exit the Great Hall. Before they can pass him, Seungkwan draws his sword, holding it out to block their way.

“Let them pass,” his father says, and he can hear the rumbling anger in his voice, threatening to spill over into the room.

“You’re telling me you’re sparing the Wessex officials in order to strike a deal? But Hansol is to be executed? The man who tried to assassinate you and take over your land is getting away with his life—and, what, a bond? A debt? Hansol saved your life, and you know it! This is the highest injustice—”

“Silence!” his father booms, standing up from his throne. He’s swaying slightly—he must be injured somewhere. “Sorcerers are not tolerated in this Kingdom, and you knew this when you decided to harbour him in the heart of Mercia. Speak another word and spend a night in the dungeons with him.”

He stares at him, reeling at the display of complete ignorance his father is capable of. “Father,” he says sheathing his sword and approaching the throne quickly. If his father won’t see to reason, maybe he has some love for Seungkwan somewhere in his heart. “Please don’t do this.” He pulls down the collar of his shift to reveal the blue flower sitting underneath his collarbone. “He’s my soulmate.”

His father looks at the flower once, briefly, then up into Seungkwan’s face. He gestures for a nearby guard to approach. “Take them both to the dungeons.”

The guard arrests Seungkwan, pulling his arms behind his back so that he can’t reach his sword. Seungkwan goes without a fight, though, as they’re marched out of the hall and through the castle, down to the dungeons. He’s stunned—that his father could be so blinded, so foolish. That he can’t seem to see reason at all.

He’s been here before, but never as an inmate. The guard takes his sword and throws him into the cell opposite Hansol’s, but he barely stumbles—Hansol hits the floor hard, and they drag him over to secure him in the chains attached to the wall. Through it all he doesn’t complain or struggle, doesn’t even make a noise.

“Don’t hurt him!” Seungkwan says, pressing at the bars of his cell. The guards pay no mind, locking the cuffs securely before exiting the cell in a hurry, as if Hansol will suddenly decide to curse them on their way out.

When they’re gone, they’re left in the empty, dim cells, damp and cold below the castle foundations, lit only with the torches held in the wall brackets. He can hear the voices of various Wessex survivors talking amongst themselves further into the dungeon, but he only focuses on Hansol opposite him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, holding the bars in his hands. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” he replies in a soft voice. “You?”

“Fine,” Seungkwan says. “Apart from the fact that my father is planning to execute my soulmate rather than, you know, the invaders who tried to kill us all.” He slides down to sit on the cell floor, exhausted.

He can see Hansol smile at him, as if trying to reassure him. As if he’s not about to die in less than twelve hours. “You’ve done well today. Saved your people. You’re a good Prince.”

“You were the one who stopped the town from burning down,” he says, resting his head against the cold metal bars. “You were a hero out there.”

“Thanks. Good to know it was worth dying for.”

“You’re not dying,” Seungkwan says roughly. “Can’t you magic yourself out of here? Escape?”

Hansol shakes his head, pulling at the chains so that they clink together. “Iron suppresses magic. Your father knows what he’s doing.”

“No,” Seungkwan breathes, feeling his grip loosen. “You can’t get out?”

Hansol shakes his head.

He presses his head harder against the bars of the cell door. “You can’t be serious.” He feels his stomach churning with a roar of fear—that had been his last hope, that Hansol could get out, get far away before they could even set up the noose.

“I’m sorry,” he says, low and quiet.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, voice thick. “I can’t believe this.”

Hansol isn’t crying, so he feels like can’t either, but it’s hard. He puts his face in his hands, overwhelmed; it feels like years ago when he was in his chambers with Hansol, getting dressed up into his ceremonial wedding clothing.

“Hey,” Hansol says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies in a whisper.

Sojeong comes down into the dungeon an hour a later, a guard at her side and a meal for Seungkwan in her hands. The guard unlocks his cell door and watches her give it to him, crouching down to kiss his forehead as she does.

“Noona, please try to convince Father,” is the first thing he says upon seeing her. “Hansol shouldn’t die. He saved more lives than anyone today.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. He’s stubborn, and too strong-willed. It’s where we both get it from.” She places the bowl of stew on the floor in front of him.

“His magic isn’t bad. We can’t let this happen. It’s wrong.”

She brings him into a hug from where she’s squatting beside him. “I agree. Be safe,” she whispers into his ear. “I love you.” Then draws back with a smile, seemingly unaffected.

“Eat your stew,” she says, louder, gesturing to the bowl. “You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

She stands and leaves the cell again, the guard locking the door after her and moving further away down the corridor. He watches them leave, then eyes the bowl of stew before digging his hands into it. He immediately comes into contact with the ring of keys hidden underneath lumps of meat and brings them up to the light. They look dull in the light and drip with stew, but for the first time that day, he feels hope.

He can hear the guards trying to subdue a prisoner in another corridor, and unlocks his cell quickly, shutting it behind him and creeping across the hallway to Hansol’s cell, unlocking that too. His hands are shaking whilst trying to find the right key, but he manages to get in and shut the door behind him before anyone can round the corner. He crosses the cell and immediately gives Hansol a hug, even if he can’t return it properly, hands secured behind his back.

“Seungkwan?” he says urgently. “What are you doing?”

“We’re escaping,” he replies, trying to find the lock of the cuffs to slot the key into. “It’s time to enact that running away plan.”

“You can’t,” Hansol says. “Your Kingdom—”

“Yes, I can,” he replies. “Once this Kingdom is passed to my sister, it’ll be in better hands. We can come back safely. Until then, we’re going to live in our cottage in the woods, and I’ll hunt for our food, and you can build us everything we need using magic.” He finally manages to click the cuffs open, and Hansol shakes his hands free, rubbing at his wrists.

“But your duty…”

“I tried to do my duty. In case you didn’t notice, my wife didn’t appreciate it. Neither did my father.”

Hansol looks at him for a moment, then nods once in understanding. “You never said ‘I do’, though,” he points out. “She’s not your wife.”

“And I thank God for it,” he says, hoisting him up by the arms. “Can you get us out of here now?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have never been surer about anything in my life.”

Hansol nods again, taking a deep breath in. “Alright. I’ve never actually tried this before, so hold on tight, okay?”

Seungkwan nods and grasps onto his hands. Hansol moves even closer, pulling Seungkwan into him, gripping him at his elbows. He watches as the gold glow in his eyes appear, so mesmerising and beautiful that he almost doesn’t notice when Hansol moves them sideways, and they go straight through the dungeon wall, appearing on the outside of the castle walls. Seungkwan gasps and looks up at him, laughing in glee.

With a boy like Hansol at his side, surely they can face anything together.

They sneak around to the stables, thankfully unmanned, and unlatch two horses.

“Your Highness,” says a low voice behind them, and Seungkwan whips around, instinctively moving in front of Hansol.

“Hyung,” he replies, looking at the form of Sir Jaesang in the stable doorway. “Please don’t call the guards. I’m trying to save his life.”

Sir Jaesang only stands there for a few moments, unmoving. His face is hidden in the shadows, and Seungkwan can’t make out his expression at all.

“I’m not going to call the guards,” he says. “I came to offer you this.” He unsheathes his sword, offering it out to Seungkwan by the hilt.

“Hyung?” he says, not daring to believe it. He steps forwards to take the sword tentatively, sliding it back into his own sheath.

“Your sister ordered me to get you this, too. Food, and clothes—enough supplies to get you past the Treia settlement, which is where they’ll look for you first.” He hands over the satchel from his shoulder, which Hansol takes with a bow, and goes to strap it to his horse.

“Thank you,” Seungkwan says, stepping forwards to hug him. Sir Jaesang responds warmly, holding him in his arms and patting his head with gentle affection.

“Good luck, young Prince. And you, young sorcerer,” he says, bowing to them both as Seungkwan steps back.

“I’ll come back,” he promises, mounting his horse. “I swear, you haven’t seen the last of me yet.”

“I very much hope for that,” Sir Jaesang smiles, before taking the reins of Seungkwan’s horse and leading her out of the stables.

“Are you ready?” he calls back to Hansol, who nods.

“I think I can manage a stealth spell for when we get to the gates, but after that I’m drained. We’re just going to have to ride, and ride fast.”

“I can do that. Think you can keep up?”

“With you?” Hansol smiles. “Always.”

Seungkwan smiles back and hoists at the reins, directing the horse in a quick trot down the street and out of the city, Hansol right by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> delphinium flower: lightness
> 
> this au was inspired by bbc merlin! i also put hansol in this sort of setting in my [other fic,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943677) im not sure why he strikes me as a medieval fantasy sort of character so much


	12. WJH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): guns, discussions of death, unhealthy childhoods, assault, choking, injury, attempted murder, murder, jun being a sweet lil baby too pure for this world

Zico gives him a beautiful handgun, small and sleek and well-weighted in his grip. “Happy birthday, kid,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder before moving back to pack his duffel bag.

“Thanks, Hyung,” he says, sliding the magazine out in awe. It comes out smoothly and he tests it in his palm, looking at the polished metal. It must be brand new. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, though.”

“We’re spending all of tomorrow travelling to Shanghai, so I thought I’d better give you it now. Besides, I thought you might want to get used to it before we send you in.”

He slots the magazine back in and looks up. “You’re sending me on a mission?”

Zico shoots him a wry smile. “You’re going to be seventeen. Think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Seungkwan looks back at him, doubtful he’s been chosen for the sake of sentimentality. “And why else have I been chosen?”

His lips quirk up. “You catch on too fast these days. Growing up so soon, huh?” He beckons him into the main room, where Kyung is sat scrutinising some schematics. “Tell him the plan,” Zico says, brushing through into their armoury.

“Seungkwan,” Kyung says, sitting up straighter. “Ready for your first mission?”

“I’ve been ready since forever. What gives now?”

“What gives is the fact that our target is less than two years older than you. The mission needs to be quick and quiet, and you’re the most likely to fly under the radar for talking to a teenager.”

“What’s the situation?” he asks, seriously. He’s pleased his Hyungs are finally trusting him with a job, eager to prove to them that he can do well.

“Target is Wen Junhui,” he says, sliding a file across the desk. “His father took out a rather large loan with our family, and now can’t pay it back. Or won’t pay it back—he’s clearly holding out on us, hosting a grand party tonight in his fucking Shanghai mansion.”

“Who holds out on the mafia?” Seungkwan asks. “What sort of fool…”

“Precisely,” Kyung replies. “Junhui is his youngest son, and we think a sudden death in the family might bring him to his senses. You go in, lure Junhui into a quiet room. Have some fun, if that’s what you want. As long as he’s dead when you leave, and you can get out without suspicion, the job is done.”

Seungkwan shrugs. “Sounds simple enough.” Get in, kill the guy, get out. He can do that.

Kyung leans over to ruffle his hair. “I’m sure it’ll be no problem for our youngest brother. You’ll have Zico on standby if you need backup. It should be a straightforward job, so it’s just the three of us going.”

He nods. “It’s been a while since we’ve been in Shanghai. It’ll be fun.”

Kyung rolls his shoulders as he stands, stretching. “Sure will, kid. Go and get a good night’s sleep; we leave early tomorrow. Oh, and happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Hyung,” he says, picking up his gift and going to find his sleep mat, placing the gun under his pillow. Excitement bubbles in him—he’s killed before, of course, but he’s never been assigned a mission like this, something so important as a target. It takes some time to fall asleep against the anticipation churning in his stomach, the pride in his chest.

He wakes up gasping, head pounding with pain, dizzy as soon as he sits up. He can tell he hasn’t been asleep for long—the other sleep mats around him are still unoccupied, and he can hear the sounds of the older Hyungs drinking together in the next room. He rolls over, trying to find his feet so that he can stumble to the bathroom. It’s thankfully unoccupied when he gets there, as he goes straight to the dingy toilet bowl and throws up, choking out the remains of his food from yesterday.

He’s sweating all over, and the bright light of the naked bathroom bulb hurts his eyes—he tries to clench his eyes shut, tries to focus. What’s going on with him? Why does his head hurt so much?

“Are you done?” Wonwoo says. “If you are, we have to go.”

He opens his eyes again, clutching at his cheek. He can almost feel Wonwoo’s gentle fingertips there, wiping away his tears. But he’s not here. It’s just him in this bathroom, alone and shivering.

“Hey,” Hansol says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies in a whisper, grasping onto the toilet seat as he dry heaves. There’s nothing left in his stomach, only the bubbling confusion, only the hurt in his heart and the noise in his head.

“I haven’t known any of them in this life,” he says, and in his mind’s eye he sees Jihoon in front of him, examining the wall of faces, of past flowers and lost loves. “I don’t think they even exist here. I’ve tried looking; there’s no record of them, anywhere.” He grips his head in both hands, bending over to put it between his knees, seeking relief. “Except here.”

He can remember them all. He can see them, stretching out into a long history, into twelve different lives leading up to here, to this awful place.

“I need to run away, right?” he asks Joshua, though he already knows it’s impossible. He’s never heard of anyone leaving the Triad alive. “I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be what they’ve made me.”

“You don’t have to be,” Joshua says, leaning in to press the ghost of a kiss to Seungkwan’s forehead. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“What do I do?” he whispers, looking around. The only thing he sees are the white tiles of the bathroom.

He’s jolted out of his daze by the sound of a banging on the door. “Hey, hurry up in there!”

“Coming!” he says, flushing his sick down the toilet and washing his hands, trying to quickly wipe the tears from his face. When he passes his Hyung in the doorway, he doesn’t notice his bloodshot eyes.

He goes back to his sleep mat, but can’t find any more rest that night.

-

“Seventeen is taking a toll on you, Seungkwan. You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Hyung,” he says, slamming the van door after him. “Can we just go?”

“Hey,” Zico says sharply. “Know your place. We’ve given you this mission because we trust you. Don’t fuck that up now.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, resting his head against the glass window as they pull away, headed to Shanghai. He can feel embarrassment rise up in him somewhere deep; talking back to his elders is against the oath of their family. He’s supposed to have utter respect, to follow their orders to every detail. That oath had been at the centre of his life, until yesterday. Now, buried under eleven lifetimes of memories, it seems unimportant and ugly. He hates that he’s found himself here, in another fucked up system. He thinks about the man he killed during the Dongbei raid at fifteen, about the shootout in Beijing last year, about all the men he’s seen his Hyungs torture for information. The brand-new gun in his belt. He feels sick thinking that he would’ve been in this for life, had it not been for those memories. Had it not been for his soulmates, saving him from himself.

So instead, he spends the ride thinking about Mingyu. He thinks Mingyu would be proud of him. They’ve been through the same struggle now, after all—crafted by men with evil intent, they were made to kill. Mingyu had broken away because he had known it was the wrong thing to do. He’s going to do his best to do the same. He’s not sure how far he’ll get; his family don’t take betrayal lightly. But if he can get away from them and save this kid Junhui’s life at the same time—even if there’s only the slightest possibility he’ll make it out with his life—he has to try.

-

Kyung had described Junhui as a rich heir to a well-known family, and Seungkwan had made his assumptions then and there. Junhui will be arrogant, sweet-talking, with expensive clothes and a more expensive watch, but unwilling to give anyone lesser than him the time of day. So when he walks into the party, expensive suit concealing his new handgun, it surprises him that it takes some time to track down the youngest son. His older sister is there, eyeing up the rich suitors in the room, as is his older brother, every bit as arrogant as he’d expected. He eventually finds Junhui sitting on his own, sipping at champagne, slumped in his chair.

“You look lonely over here,” he says, slipping into the chair opposite him with his own flute of champagne.

Junhui immediately sits up straighter, fixing a polite smile onto his face. “I’m alright, really. Needed a breather.” He remembers his manners, sticking out a hand and introducing himself. “Wen Junhui. My father is the host tonight.”

“Xu Minghao,” Seungkwan says, shaking his hand firmly. “Not a party person?”

Junhui shakes his head. “I want to come to support my father, of course. But I’m not as good at socialising as the rest of my family.”

He’s surprised to get such a genuine confession out of Junhui so soon. Maybe because Seungkwan looks to be the only other person at this party even close to his age; maybe because he hadn’t approached him with a company name in his mouth, looking to make connections. Might as well try to push his luck, then.

“We could…get out of here, if you’d prefer.”

Junhui looks at him, uncomprehending. “And go where?”

He leans closer to Junhui over the table, saying in a low voice, “Wherever you want.”

Junhui just shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t leave this early. I’m supposed to greet everyone at the party. Are you here with someone I should shake hands with?”

He sits back, a little put out. “No, actually, I’m here to represent my father. He couldn’t make it tonight.”

“For which company?”

“Shenzhen Dotely Technology Company,” he says, the lie provided by Kyung on the tip of his tongue.

The way Junhui brightens almost immediately gives him whiplash. The polite smile on his face is replaced with a genuine one, and his whole frame relaxes. “Really? Shenzhen Dotely? No way!”

“Yeah!” Seungkwan responds enthusiastically. “Do you have connections with us?”

“Well, not connections per say, but you have this line of magic toys—they’re meant for kids, but my maid used to smuggle them in for me, because I’m usually not allowed that sort of thing.” He lowers his voice and leans in, as if exchanging top secret information with Seungkwan. “The magic box is the best one. I’ve mastered all twelve ways of using it.”

“Really?” he says, trying to sound fascinated rather than utterly thrown. “That’s amazing—you must be skilled at…magic tricks.”

Junhui’s pleased little smile at such a small compliment makes him open up further. “It’s a nice hobby.” He wavers for a few seconds, and Seungkwan can tell he’s bursting to say something, so he smiles kindly and waits for him to build up the courage. His eyes flit around the room, brushing over his sister talking to a huddle of people, his father over by the bar. Then he gives in, leaning close to Seungkwan again.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a coin. “Watch the coin.”

As Junhui twists the coin in his hands, making it run over his knuckles as he flourishes his fingers, Seungkwan wonders what the hell is going on. Are missions usually like this?

“Where did it go?” Junhui asks, snapping Seungkwan out of his thoughts. “Do you know?”

“No,” he says, faintly. “Where did it go?”

“It’s here!” Junhui says, delighted, reaching up behind Seungkwan’s ear and coming back with the coin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wow,” Seungkwan says, staring at the coin. This isn’t how he thought his evening was going to go, but he can work with it. “Do you know any others like that?”

“Yes!” Junhui says. “I can do some patterns with rope—they’re the hardest, but the prettiest. I could show you, but I don’t have any on me…” he trails off, looking at the door to the grand hall they’re in.

He’s far too obvious, really. It’s sweet. “Do you have some somewhere else in your house?”

He nods. “In my bedroom. I have a drawer full of stuff.”

“Do you want to show me?” Seungkwan asks casually.

Junhui looks over at the door again anxiously, then over at his father at the bar. “If we’re quick, he might not even notice we’re gone,” he says, reasoning with himself.

“Right,” Seungkwan agrees, waiting for Junhui to stand up first. “We can be quick.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, standing from his chair, and Seungkwan knows he’s won. “Let’s go.”

Junhui leads him towards the hall door, past some straight-faced servants and out into the quiet lobby. The doorman pays them no mind as they pass straight through to the giant staircase, Junhui taking the stairs two at a time in his eagerness. On the second floor, they pass through a hallway of rooms, none of which are Junhui’s; he takes a second set of stairs at the end of the corridor until they reach a third, smaller floor. Junhui’s room is the first on the left.

“I’m not too good at the complicated shapes, but I can do some pretty ones! They keep my baby cousin entertained, anyway. Not that I’m saying you’re a baby—”

Seungkwan follows Junhui into the room, shutting the door behind them and turning the key in the lock, resting his head against the wood with a sigh. Junhui is already at the other side of the room, rifling through a drawer. “Junhui,” he says, pushing away from the door to walk over to the boy.

“Yes?” he asks, turning to face him with a length of thin rope in his hands.

“I’m not really with Shenzhen Dotely.”

The smile drops from Junhui’s face in a second. “You’re not?”

Seungkwan shakes his head. “My name is Boo Seungkwan, and I’m here to save your life.”

Junhui blinks at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Show me where your clothes are. I’m going to pack you a bag while I talk.”

Junhui obediently points to the wall of mirrors on the other side of his room. Seungkwan walks over to them, sliding one back to find an array of neatly folded clothes behind. He picks a rucksack out of the bottom of the wardrobe and starts to shove in t-shirts, underwear, trousers, the most inconspicuous clothing he can find in this array of rich-boy attire.

“I suppose you’ve heard of the Triad?”

The intake of breath from Junhui is almost comical. “The… criminal organisation? Are you with them?”

“I was. I was sent here to kill you, because your father isn’t paying back what he owes them.” He slides the wardrobe door closed and turns to face Junhui. “But you’re eighteen years old, and innocent. So I’m not doing that. We’re going to run away from them together.”

“What?” Junhui whispers, pale faced.

“You can take a minute to sit down and process that, but we should get out of here before anyone at the party notices you’re missing,” he says, walking back over to Junhui and pushing him onto the bed gently. Junhui shies away from his touch, and he tries not to take it personally. “Where’s your jewellery?”

Junhui points wordlessly to the second drawer of his bedside dresser. Seungkwan slides it open to find a jackpot—high brand watches and earrings arranged carefully on top of a layer of expensive cufflinks and rings. He picks up the whole tray and shakes it into the rucksack—they’re going to need the cash if they want to get out of the country.

“Why can’t you just tell them you’ve killed me?” Junhui asks, voice shaking. “Can’t you just leave me here? I can tell my father, get protection—”

“Junhui,” Seungkwan says softly, squatting down to look up at him. “The Triad are the most powerful criminal organisation in China—maybe in the world. If I don’t kill you, they will kill me, then send someone a lot bigger and scarier to do it instead. If they want something to happen, things like the police don’t stand in their way. You stay here, you die. You come with me, we can get a head start on them and I will do my best to protect you. Betrayal is worse than failure, after all—they’re not going to be very happy with me. I have reason to get as far away from them as I can.”

Junhui blinks rapidly, tears clinging to his long eyelashes. “Why are you doing this? You’re running away from them for my sake?”

“It’s complicated,” Seungkwan says, shouldering the bag. “But for now, let’s say that yeah, you’re the main reason why. I don’t want to work for them anymore. You’re kind of the catalyst of that.”

Junhui is sat so still, eyes unfocused and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t want to rush him, but they really need to get out of here before they’re found.

“Will you come with me?” he says, sitting next to him on the bed. “If there were another option, I swear I would leave you alone and never look back. Running on your own is easier than running with two. But I’m your best chance of surviving right now.”

Junhui looks up at him. The excited boy of before is gone, the delight in his eyes replaced with fear. He wonders how, only twenty-four hours before, he’d been so ready to kill this boy. There’s an ugly prickle in his throat at the thought of it.

“Okay,” Junhui whispers. “I’ll come with you.”

“Good. I’ll do my best to do right by you. First job: we need a car. Where’s your garage?”

Junhui’s father, the rich bastard, has seven different cars, and he’s left the keys in all of them. The garage door is locked, but Junhui has it open in seconds with a few presses to the keypad.

“These aren’t exactly low key, but we can always ditch it for something better as soon as we get out of the area,” Seungkwan says, slipping into the most innocuous vehicle there, a shiny black Mercedes.

“Where are we going?” Junhui asks, climbing into the passenger seat.

“We need to get out of the country. I’m thinking we pass through Laos to get to Thailand; lay low there for a while. Maybe move to South Korea or America, eventually.”

“I can only speak Chinese,” Junhui says, nervously.

“Then you’re going to have to let me do all the talking and catch on quickly. Before that, though, we need documents, and cash. We’re going to visit a contact of mine.”

“I thought you were trying to leave the Triad?” Junhui asks, as Seungkwan starts the engine. “Won’t your contact turn you in to them?”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling out of the underground garage. “I have a little more personal sway with this one. If he has a heart, he won’t turn me in.”

“Why’s that?” Junhui asks warily.

“Because he’s my father,” Seungkwan says, engine roaring as they come up to ground level, and he accelerates through the open gates.

-

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” Seungkwan says as soon as he enters the workshop. He can see his father working away at something on the other side of the room, straightening up as Seungkwan’s voice fills the room. They’re not exactly close, but they are familiar with each other. Junhui stands behind him nervously, as if trying to hide behind Seungkwan’s shorter stature. “I’m working directly against the Triad to save this kid’s life. Will you help me or not?”

His father leans back in his chair, back popping as he stretches. “Is it possible to help a dead man?”

“I just need documents, and a drop off location for a bunch of jewellery. We can be finished before they even realise I’ve skipped the job.”

His father sighs, standing up out of his chair to trudge over to Seungkwan. “Or you can finish the job, and they’ll never know you tried to skip out,” he says, resting his hands on Seungkwan’s shoulders. “You need me to do it for you?”

“No,” he says shortly, taking his hands away from his shoulders. “He’s innocent.”

“He won’t be if he’s trying to run from the Triad.”

“Better to be alive and guilty than dead and innocent.”

His dad eyes him, then looks over his shoulder at Junhui. “This rich kid is worth your life?”

“It won’t be my life if you help me out,” Seungkwan says, stubborn.

“Tsk,” his father huffs, turning around and heading to the other side of the room. “Knew I shouldn’t have left you with the Red Dragons. They’re unreliable.”

“Believe me, the family isn’t the problem,” Seungkwan replies, following after him. “I’m not cut out for this life. You’ll never have to see me again, just… please help me get him away.”

His father pushes past worktops and shelves of junk, reaching up to a schematic pinned up on the wall. He takes it down to reveal a vault behind it.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he says, turning the dial on the vault until it clicks open. “Not that I thought you’d be the first kid to do it, but. Here we are.” He reaches in, sifts around for a minute, and pulls out a file, handing it to Seungkwan. “It shouldn’t take me too long to whip up the basics for your boyfriend here.”

Seungkwan sifts through the folder, feeling oddly touched by what he sees. The file contains four different sets of identities for him; passports, birth certificates, driving licences, all aged up to twenty-one, from China, South Korea, the U.S.A., and the U.K.. They’re good, too—he’s no expert in this field, but there’s a reason his father has been working for the Triad for so many years. His work is some of the best.

“Get over to that wall,” his father orders, pointing at Junhui who scurries in front of the camera. His father takes his picture once before shuffling away again. “What’s your plan?” he grunts at Seungkwan, sitting down in front of a broad computer monitor, looking out of place in the cluttered, old workshop.

“Bribe the Laos border, hide away in Thailand for a while.”

His father wheezes in what he supposes must be a laugh. “I’ll prepare your memorial, then.”

“And what would you suggest?” he asks, stoutly. Truth be told, he could use the advice. It’s not like he’s done this before.

“Aside from Japan, Laos is one of the biggest Triad areas. They’ll take your money at the border and hand you straight over to die.”

“We can’t take a plane, security will be looking out for Junhui,” he rebuts.

“For Junhui, yes,” his father says, tapping away at the keyboard. “I can distort his picture. It’ll look enough like him to get you through to security, but not enough to set off the alert for his image.”

“That will work?” he asks, doubtfully.

“Am I the forgery expert, or you?” he says. “Go to the west, sell your jewellery out there. You’ll get more for it.”

“Then how will I pay for the ticket?”

“Look in the goddamn file,” his father grumbles. “Did the Red Dragons teach you nothing?”

He peers into his file again. There’s a wad of cash at the bottom—not much, but enough to get them both out of the country. Something tugs at his heart. Maybe it’s love.

“Thank you, Father.”

“I’m assuming I get to keep the Mercedes for my trouble?”

The feeling is killed quickly. He rolls his eyes. “Sure. It’s all yours.”

-

The passports work just as planned, and they make it through security without a hitch. It takes them eight hours to get to Madrid, and Junhui is jumpy the whole time, flinching at anyone who tries to talk to them, at any noise from the plane. On landing they go straight to a jeweller to sell everything they have, the jeweller undeterred by the amount of bling they have to hand. They get a good wad of euros for it, and set out to find somewhere to lie low.

They spend a few nights in Madrid before moving on to Barcelona. Seungkwan is anxious to travel regularly, to shake off anyone tracking them; he knows staying in one place is too risky, as much as they could both do with the stability. In the meantime, he teaches Junhui some basic self-defence; essential, considering type of people they could have trying to find them.

“Stand with your feet apart, like this,” he says, easing Junhui’s legs apart so he’s in a better stance. “Put your arms up—who are you going to fight like that? A toddler? Elbows higher. And put your thumb on the outside of your fist.”

“Won’t that weaken my punch? There’s nothing for my fingers to rest on.”

“Putting your thumb inside your fist is a guaranteed way to get your thumb broken on first punch.”

Junhui looks down at his hands as if they’re foreign attachments to his arms. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Well, no, I suppose you’re not going to be able to fight off a Triad member,” he says, surveying him. Junhui is tall and broad, but very thin and wiry. He wonders if he’d been fed enough at home. “How about I just teach you how to shoot?”

“You have a gun?” Junhui says, bug-eyed. “How did you get that through security?”

“I know a few tricks,” he says, taking the gun out of the bag and handing it over to Junhui, making sure the safety is on.

“No!” Junhui exclaims, backing away. “I don’t want to touch that.”

“I don’t want you to shoot anyone, Junhui,” Seungkwan says gently. “I hope you never need to. This is a worst-case scenario, okay? You need to have some form of defence.”

Seungkwan slides the gun into his hand gently, can feel how he takes it so reluctantly.

“Here, hold your arm out like this—” He presses himself against Junhui’s back so that he can straighten out his arm, focusing his aim steadily. “Use your other hand, too. You need to grip it firmly so you can aim steadily, firm against the recoil.”

“Like this?” he says, gripping the hold with both hands, one finger on the trigger guard.

“Yeah. You can pull the trigger if you want. It won’t do anything; the safety is on.”

Junhui carefully moves his figure onto the trigger, aiming straight ahead at the mirror opposite them. He doesn’t press down, though, just holds there, looking at himself.

“I don’t think I can,” he says eventually, relaxing out of the position and dropping the gun on the bed. “I’m not like you.”

Something in him pangs at that, and he looks down that the bedsheets. “Not like me?”

“Yeah,” Junhui says, unsure. “I can’t do all the things you can do.”

Seungkwan picks up the gun, pushing it back into their bag. “You don’t think we have anything in common?”

Junhui curls in on himself, unsure. “Do we?”

Seungkwan sits back on the bed. “We were both brought up by families that don’t care about us,” he says. It’s not a hard guess on Junhui’s part, and the way he looks down confirms that. “Deprived of love. Deprived of the fun we should’ve had as kids. Now we’re here, running away from home for the sake of our lives. We’re from different lifestyles, sure. But we’re the same.”

Junhui looks up at him under his mess of hair. So far removed from that rich household, the money and the nice clothes, he looks just like a normal kid. To an outsider, they could be on holiday together, childhood friends having a road trip around Europe.

“But that also means this is an opportunity,” he says, sitting up. “We can go where we want to, do what we want. We might as well make this running away business fun. Is there anywhere you want to go?”

Junhui shifts in place, shoulders tensing.

“There is, right?” he says, trying to coax is out of him.

“No, it’s nothing,” Junhui says. “We should go wherever you think is safest.”

“Our safest bet right now is staying on the move. Is it something to do with your magic tricks?” he asks gently, but Junhui still startles, looking up at him. Seungkwan just smiles. “It’s okay to enjoy things, you know. Try and get your parent’s voice out of your head—if it makes you happy, you can do it.”

Junhui blinks a few times, looking around the room nervously. “There’s this place in London—Camden market. Apparently, there’s an amazing stall for magic…”

“Great!” Seungkwan says. “We can do that, no problem. We’ll go north into France first, and take a ferry over to the U.K.”

“Really?” he says, as if he daren’t believe it. “Is it okay?”

He reaches out to pinch at Junhui’s cheek affectionately. In the time they’ve been together, Junhui has come to accept that Seungkwan isn’t here to hurt him, has stopped flinching away from his every touch. It’s nice—it’s not like Seungkwan is used to the contact either, but he can’t help but baby Junhui, sometimes. He can be like a little kid in his excitement.

“Sure thing. We’ll travel into Barcelona tomorrow, pick up some supplies, then go north to the French border.”

Junhui lies down on the bed, and the pleased smile on his face is the first one Seungkwan has seen since the party. It’s a good sign, he hopes. Maybe he isn’t ripping him away from his life; maybe he’s giving him a new one.

-

They spend a few weeks in France, travelling the southern border and gradually going further north, never staying anywhere longer than three nights. For a while, Seungkwan struggles to sleep at night. He lies there, listening to the sound of Junhui breathing, nerves on edge as he pictures a Triad member bursting in, bringing them back to China for punishment. Any movement along their corridor wakes him up; any voice from outside their window makes him tense. He can feel his Hyungs breathing down his neck, even though there’s been no suspicious activity since they’d left China, no sign that they’ve been followed. It’s hard to shake off a lifetime of living in obedient fear.

“Seungkwan?” Junhui says one night, and it makes him startle. He’d thought he was asleep.

“Yeah?”

“Do you need me to keep watch for a while?”

“Of course not, Junhui. It’s fine.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “I know you don’t sleep. I can stay up if it would help you feel better.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

He can hear Junhui’s gentle breaths in the dark, working up to something. “Do you want to come here?” he says, eventually.

“Where?”

“Here,” he says, patting the bed. “If you need the company.”

He rolls over to see the outline of Junhui’s form in the dark, sat up in bed. “Okay,” he agrees, though he’s not sure why he says it. He supposes he’ll try anything to help him sleep.

He crawls out of his bed and slides under Junhui’s covers, careful not to touch him. Junhui, in a move of unforeseen boldness, reaches out to run his fingers through Seungkwan’s hair gently. The touch is nice. Comforting. Makes his eyelids feel heavier, his body feel warmer.

He sleeps a little better that night.

-

They stop off in Paris, have a meal in the Eiffel tower, because if they deserve anything, it’s a treat. The food isn’t amazing, but the view is—both Paris at night, and Junhui in his nice suit.

When they make it to London, they find it comfortable to hold hands as they press through the crowds, anxious not to lose each other. Camden market is big, and they roam the stalls together, trying to find the place Junhui had heard about. It takes them a little while, as it’s tucked in the corner of one of the alleyways, not that it deters Junhui’s enthusiasm, or the size of his smile when he walks in to see the items on every shelf. They have everything from whoopee cushions to whole sets of hoops and sticks and ribbons fit for tricks and shows. Junhui spends nearly fourty-five minutes just rooting through one crate of miscellaneous items, picking out things small enough for them to carry around but challenging enough for him to master. He tries to flick through every book, assessing which is the most comprehensive for hand-based magic tricks, and Seungkwan lets him. Junhui has been brought up given any luxury item he could want, but he thinks that this might be the first time he’s experienced real indulgence.

Eventually, they leave the shop with two new books, a set of handheld metal rings used for illusion magic, and a box with a false bottom, made for disappearing coins or other small items. Junhui keeps pulling the box open and closed again as they walk to find food, delighted with the mechanism as the coin disappears and reappears in front of his eyes.

“Hey, can you read this out for me?” he says, passing Seungkwan one of his books as they’re sat at a table, waiting for their food to arrive. He stares at the book in his hand, then back up at Junhui.

“You’re telling me you didn’t buy a Chinese version?”

“They didn’t have any Chinese versions,” he says. “We’re in the U.K.”

“This is a four-hundred-page book,” he says, flicking through it in disbelief.

“Then you’ll have to start teaching me English,” Junhui says with a smile.

“Unbelievable,” he says. “You know most people start off learning English with children’s books?”

“Then we can start with those,” Junhui says agreeably. “In the meantime, will you read it for me?”

Seungkwan looks up at him, pursing his lips in playful discontent. “And what do I get in return?”

Junhui pauses for a second, and Seungkwan is on the edge of telling him it’s a joke, when he replies, “My undying love?”

It startles a laugh out of him. The timid Junhui is teasing him? “Wow. I’m so honoured.”

“You should be,” Junhui says, a shy smile at his mouth.

“Okay, I’ll read it to you. As long as you’re serious about learning English. Maybe then we could settle down here someday.”

Junhui looks at him through his long lashes. “Settle down together? In the U.K.?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Would that be so bad?”

Junhui blinks a few times, then smiles again, gently. “No. I think that would be nice.”

-

He’s awoken from sleep so abruptly he’s dizzy, the dark keeping him from understanding what’s going on. All he knows is there’s a hand around his neck, throwing him to the ground so hard that he hits it with a thump, knocking his head against something. Then there’s a pressure on his stomach as someone sits on him, a strong blow to his jaw, the sound of someone crying out, pain in his head as he receives another punch that slams his skull against the floor.

He body moves on its own, reaching out to grab at the assailant’s wrist in the dark, stopping himself from being hit a third time. They wrench their hand out of his grip, but it gives him enough time to punch wherever he can, hitting at ribs once and flailing until he has flesh in his mouth, biting down hard on their arm. He gets a punch to his nose for his troubles, and he spits the blood right out again, into their face.

A lamp is turned on from the other side of the room, giving him a shadowed view of the scene in front of him. Zico is sat on top of him, breathing heavily, with splatters of Seungkwan’s blood on his shirt and chin. They both stop with the sudden light, Seungkwan’s hands pinned to the floor under Zico. A little way behind him, Junhui has one hand cuffed to the headboard, the other hand on the lamp switch, his frame curled up tight with fright.

“Hyung,” he chokes, the blood pooling in his mouth making it hard to talk.

“So you want me to be your Hyung now?” Zico says, voice shaking with rage. “After the mess you made? You want to call me that?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to push against his weight. It’s no use—Zico is bigger and broader than him, and has an iron grip on his wrists. He’s a mouse caught in an angry, bloodthirsty trap. “I needed to get out. I didn’t want to make it hard on you all, but I had no choice.”

“Make it hard?” Zico says, a half manic laugh following. “What, you think we got a slapped wrist and carried on with life, Seungkwan?”

He realises that Zico is alone. This isn’t a Triad mission; it’s a personal hunt. “What happened?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.

“Bloodshed, is what,” he snarls. “We failed a mission, let a high-profile target escape, and had a betrayer run on us all in one night. We were disgraced, Seungkwan, and some powerful people were not happy with us. You’ve made me run, too. I should be dead right now.”

“Kyung…”

“Dead,” Zico spits. “Thanks to you.”

He writhes in his grasp again, choking up. “I didn’t mean for all that. I never would’ve—”

“Too late now, Seungkwannie,” he says, reaching into his belt and pulling out a knife, knee replacing the hand pinning down his arm. The blade glitters in the low light, and it feels cold against his neck. “Time to pay.”

He can feel his heart rate racing, knows Zico can feel it too, his leering grin bearing down on him. “Please spare Junhui,” he begs. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Junhui will get the treatment I decide for him,” Zico says. “Before I take him back to China. His father is offering a large reward for his return. Enough to get me far away from the Triad.”

“Please,” he whimpers, though he knows pleading with someone like Zico is no good. He’d thought maybe they’d had something; that maybe Zico would grant him this one wish, for all the years they’d spent together as he’d grown up.

He supposes he’d thrown that away when he’d left. Zico presses a hand to his neck firmly, cutting off his air, the knife trailing down his chest. “It’s a shame you chose to leave,” he says, watching as Seungkwan struggles to breathe, his free hand grasping and pulling at Zico’s arm uselessly. “You had so much potential.”

Seungkwan can’t respond, can’t bring air into his lungs, can’t think properly. Dying doesn’t scare him; he knows he’ll be back again, in a new place, with a new life. It’s leaving Junhui that scares him. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged back across the world with an unhinged man, to be shoved back into his stifled, empty life.

Or maybe dying does scare him. He wants to stay with Junhui, after all—to look after him, to show him the world. To have a matching flower with him. They’ve had no time, and he’s going to die here, on this hotel floor, while Junhui watches.

There’s a resounding bang that fills the room, rocking through his core, and he gasps out for air as Zico’s grasp loosens. Then he’s got his full body weight collapsed onto him, which he pushes off instinctively, scrambling away to put as much distance between them as he can. He’s breathing too fast to get any proper air, so he tries to steady himself, reign in his panic to collect his wits. The gunshot had been loud, in a country where firearms are illegal; they need to get out of here, fast.

He looks over to the bed, where Junhui is staring at Zico’s corpse, eyes wide and hands clutched around Seungkwan’s handgun.

“Junhui,” he chokes out, pushing himself to his feet. His knees fail him at first, and he falls onto the floor, but he pushes himself back up again, staggering over to the bed and easing the gun from him. He presses a kiss to his forehead, clutching onto him with shaking hands. “You just saved my life.”

Junhui says nothing, still staring.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re in shock, but we have to go before they come for us.” He eyes the handcuff and turns back to the body on the floor, rooting through Zico’s pockets for the key. He finds it quickly, and pockets the knife, too, just in case.

“I killed him” Junhui whispers, as Seungkwan unlocks his cuff.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing his forehead again. “Thank you.”

Junhui finally looks up at him, eyes shining. He only nods.

Seungkwan briefly cups his face for comfort, on the verge of tears himself. He shoulders their rucksack and takes Junhui by the elbows, pulling him to stand up from the bed. “We need to run to the fire escape, leave the building, and get as far out of this city as we can. Are you ready?”

Junhui takes his hand, clutching it in his own sweaty fingers.

“I’ll follow you,” he says, dazed but certain.

Seungkwan nods, and turns to pull him away from the body, towards some semblance of safety.

-

It takes them nearly ten years of being together to get their flowers. By that time, they have a house, a mortgage, and a lot of travel experience.

“Why do you think they took so long?” Junhui asks as they lie in bed together, running his fingertips over the pink hyacinth on Seungkwan’s hip in soothing circles.

Seungkwan loops his arm around Junhui’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “We had a lot of baggage to get rid of. We were running for years. I think we had to stop looking behind us before we could really look ahead.”

Junhui hums. “I didn’t really know what love was until I met you, you know. Took me a long time to figure out what the feeling was.”

Seungkwan smiles sadly. “Probably that, too.”

They lie there in peaceful silence for a few minutes. Seungkwan nearly falls asleep to the gentle rhythm of Junhui’s touch.

“Now that I know…” Junhui says, trailing off.

“Yes?” Seungkwan prompts, fluttering his eyes open to look at him.

“Now that I know what it is,” he says. “Do you think we could…expand our love?”

Seungkwan blinks a few times. “Are you asking for a threesome?”

Junhui splutters. “No! No. I meant… I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe we could apply for an adoption?”

Seungkwan sits up in the bed, looking at him in surprise.

“Or not,” he finishes, hands in the air. “It was just a thought.”

“You want kids?” Seungkwan asks, barely daring to breathe.

“Yeah,” he says, sitting up too. “I really do.”

Seungkwan beams, tackling Junhui back to the bed in a hug. “Please, let’s have kids,” he says, voice muffled into Junhui’s skin. “Let’s do a better job than our parents did.”

“It’s a deal,” Junhui says, hugging Seungkwan back firmly. “I really want to do that.”

“Then let’s,” he says, giving him a firm kiss to the mouth. “You’re going to be the best dad.”

Junhui flushes with the praise, kissing Seungkwan right back, holding him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyacinth flower: playfulness
> 
> the triad are a real chinese criminal organisation, but i was mostly just using the name, the only knowledge i have about them is from wikipedia... the red dragons are a made up faction! and i'm sorry for making block b the bad guys


	13. LCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter (SPOILERS): minor injury, guns

The guy who slides into the seat opposite him looks around his age, all sharp eyes and curling smile as he studies Seungkwan.

“Lee Chan?” he asks.

“That’s me,” he replies, clasping his hands together. “Before we begin, let me just check you’re here for the right reason. You contacted me about the journey to the end of the universe, right?”

“Correct,” Seungkwan says, and the Tentaroid at the next table gives them a strange look.

“And you’re not here to scam me, prank me, laugh at me or try to get me admitted to a hospital?”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “Are these all things that have happened to you?”

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a serious taker,” Chan says. “Most people call me crazy, say I’m perpetuating the fixed universe theory.”

“Well, the infinite universe theory is heavily supported by science,” Seungkwan points out, and Chan shoots him a look.

“If you don’t believe in the possibility of the end of the universe, why would you be here?”

Seungkwan shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy things. The universe having an end isn’t that crazy; I want to see for myself.”

“So you want to come to the edge of the universe… for the hell of it?” Chan asks, unimpressed. “If you’re serious about this, you must have a reason. It’s no short journey for earthlings like us.”

“How long is the journey?”

“Twelve earth years, give or take. It depends on how good our ship is.”

“No problem. I’ve always wanted to see the universe.”

“But why?” Chan asks again, insistent. “Why commit to this with a stranger?”

Seungkwan rolls his shoulders, thoughtful. “Let’s just say I’m looking for answers. What about you, Lee Chan? How do you know the length of the journey to the end of the universe, when everyone else believes it to be a myth? Why are you trying to get there so badly?”

Chan’s eyes glitter, perceptive and sharp. “Let’s just say I’m trying to get to where I belong,” he says.

“Really?” Seungkwan says, a smile creeping onto his face. “How mysterious.”

“We’ve got twelve years to get to know each other,” Chan says. “That’s enough talking for now. We need to buy a spaceship.”

-

They pool all their credit together to get a decent two-bed ship, roomier than the hovel he’s been living in and surprisingly clean, considering it’s second-hand. Chan seems to know a thing or two about ships, demanding a look at the engine and inside the control panel before purchase. What he sees must satisfy him, because he wipes Seungkwan’s credit account clean in the purchase of it.

“I hope you have a plan for us,” he says, when he returns with his single box of belongs to place on the ship. “We need to, you know, eat and stuff on the way there.”

“Sure,” Chan agrees, fixing up his own bed space with a few belongings. “I was thinking we’d stop off at the planets we see along the way. Do some hours of work, get some credits, get what we need and get off planet again.”

“So we’re bumming around the universe, trying to get to the end of it. Great.”

“Trust me, it’ll work,” Chan says, far too confident for the sheer size of the journey ahead of them. “I’m assuming you know how to fly this thing?”

“I did basic space flight in school,” he says. “I’ve never flown this specific model, though.”

Chan shrugs. “Good enough. You’ll pick it up. Here; I’ll take the first flight, and you can watch, if you like.”

“We’re going now?” Seungkwan asks in surprise. He’s barely put his box down.

“Yeah,” Chan says. “What are you waiting for?”

“Don’t you have anyone to say goodbye to?”

Chan shakes his head easily. “No. Do you?”

Seungkwan had thought about saying goodbye to Hoseok before he goes, but they’d never been that close. He’s not sure anyone will really notice he’s gone, and he doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. Announcing a journey to the end of the universe would only get him ridiculed, anyway.

“No.”

Chan looks at him with an understanding nod. “Then let’s go.”

-

As it turns out, the plan isn’t a bad one. There are planets every few warp jumps, and most of them have short-term work available. They stay on a planet for a few sun cycles, get enough credit between them to stock their cupboards and fill up with fuel, then move on again. Once they get into a routine, it doesn’t take long for their ship to feel like home.

Trouble first hits on Xandar, when they’re waiting in the queue to get their payment after a long day of packing supplies and lifting boxes. There’s a hold up at the front, the Xandarian officer trying to convince a Hakol worker they’re not liable for payment, that they’d never registered for the work hours in the first place.

“Ah shit,” he can hear Chan mutter from next to him.

“What is it?” he whispers back, peering around the queue to see the furious Hakol demanding to see another official.

“Some of these places are corrupt; they get free labour hours by fucking up records, denying some people their pay. If they’re foreigners, only on planet for a few days, they can do it without much issue, as the government won’t do much about it.”

“You mean people like us?” he says, watching the Hakol leave the warehouse, furious.

“Yeah. Keep our place in line; I’m going to go and get some insurance.”

“You’re what?” Seungkwan hisses, but Chan is already gone, sneaking through the boxes of the warehouse out of the sight of the official ahead of them. As soon as he’s gone from his side, Seungkwan can feel his palms starting to sweat as the queue moves forwards, other workers collecting their pay without issue.

He doesn’t take long, but still longer than Seungkwan would like, his heart thumping in his chest as Chan sneaks back into the line when the official is turned away.

“What the hell were you doing?” he asks, grasping at Chan’s hand to stop him from running away again.

Chan just smiles at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Next,” the official says, looking up at them when they step forwards. “Name and species?”

“Lee Chan, Human,” Chan says, smiling brightly.

“Boo Seungkwan, Human,” Seungkwan says, eyeing up his partner.

As Chan had predicted, the officer shakes his head. “No names on here. We can’t pay you for work you haven’t done.”

“Officer,” Seungkwan tries to reason. “You’ve been in here all day—surely you’ve seen us working?”

The officer shrugs, like he’s powerless to make such an observation. “You’re not on the list.”

“I see. Looks like we’ll have to go and take this up with the authorities, right Seungkwannie?” Chan says, placing one hand on his shoulder and guiding him from the queue without a fight.

“You do that,” the officer says, unconcerned. “Next. Name and species?”

“What are you doing?” Seungkwan asks.

“Just walk out of here calmly. It’ll be fine.”

“Did you take something?” He eyes up Chan’s satchel anxiously.

“Now why would you think that of me, Seungkwannie?” he asks, admonishingly, right as they step through the wide entrance door of the warehouse. As they pass under the metal barrier bordering the space, a loud alarm starts blaring, and a robotic voice calls out:

“Unauthorised object leaving the building. Unauthorised object leaving the building.”

The officer behind them snaps to attention immediately, and several others materialise along the warehouse walls.

“Okay, maybe I did,” Chan says, grabbing onto Seungkwan’s sleeve. “Run!”

They take off immediately, dodging the bulky Xandar officers around them that launch after them. The courtyard outside the warehouse is empty, so they charge straight through it, springing over the low fence at the other side and onto the roadside. There’s a crowd of people on the street ahead that they run towards. They won’t blend in here; the population is blue-skinned and a lot taller and broader than a typical human, but the crowd makes for good cover, at least. They weave in between bodies, still clutching onto each other, running as fast as they can go to escape the shouting behind them.

They come out of the other side of the crowd into an empty square plaza. He recognises this; their landing pad isn’t far from here.

“Come on!” he says, tugging Chan in the right direction, keeping close to a wall to avoid becoming open targets. It doesn’t help much—once the Xandar officials make it through the now scattered crowd, they start shooting their blasters, getting bold with the new space ahead of them. One narrowly misses Seungkwan’s ear before they turn a corner around a building—he can see their ship from here, only a sprint away through a narrow path.

“We can make it!” Chan shouts, a new energy in him. “Let’s go!”

He pulls ahead of Seungkwan, who does his best to keep up. The sound of their pursuers is motivation enough—thankfully, they’ve stopped shooting, too afraid of the ricochet in the small space. The walls on either side of them make the sound of their shouts louder and echoed, though; it seems like they’re right behind him, a hairs breadth away. They emerge from the path, only metres away from their ship, when Seungkwan feels the sharp jolt of a blast hit his arm, travelling across his skin and causing him to fall. Chan hears it, whipping around to look at him with panic.

“Get up!” he shouts, stopping in his path and pulling something out of his bag. “Get to the ship!”

With the sound of a Xandar officer falling echoes behind him, he understands what the object in Chan’s hands is; an Anjia gun. They’d been packing them in the warehouse, but in pieces—he’d assumed that the workers around them hadn’t recognised them in their disassembled state. They’re high-grade guns, too, and highly sought after, rarely seen at civilian level. Chan must’ve taken it to sell it, to make up for their lost pay.

He scrambles to his feet, fighting through the pain to focus on getting to the belly of their ship. It opens automatically, recognising is bio-signature on approach, and Chan starts backing up with him, shooting their pursuers as they race up the stairs and lock up the ship again. Seungkwan collapses onto the floor, clutching at his arm.

“I’m going to get us out of here!” Chan yells, dropping the gun and throwing himself into the pilot’s seat. “Hang on!”

He manages to hoist himself into a passenger seat and buckle himself in, bracing for take-off as Chan skips a few safety procedures in order to get their ship out of the firing zone with speed. Their blast out of the atmosphere is so fast that his teeth rattle in his skull.

“I’m going to do a few warps in case they’re following us,” Chan shouts from the front. “Then we’ll drift for a little while. We’ll have to go out of the area to get work, now.”

Seungkwan says nothing, allowing Chan to punch in the commands and get them several warps away from Xandar. He doesn’t notice they’ve parked until Chan is in front of him, unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling him from the chair.

“Come on, come sit on your bed. Does it hurt?”

“It’s just superficial,” he says, as Chan gets their med kit out. “Xandarians aren’t a fan of killing offenders—it’s made to hurt, but that’s it. It’ll go down in a few hours.”

Chan pops a painkiller out of the packet and presses it into Seungkwan’s hand anyway. “And how do you know so much about Xandar weapons?” he asks.

“I think the better question is how you know so much about Anija guns, Channie,” he challenges, popping the pill into his mouth as he watches as Chan’s eyebrows rise up.

“You know what that is?” He walks back into the space of their ship to pick up the gun.

“Yeah. Not the biggest fan of them.”

“They’re a masterpiece of weaponry,” Chan says.

“And a real painful one.”

Chan rests back on his elbows, watching him from the floor. “And I’d suppose you’d know?”

Seungkwan rests forwards, his uninjured arm on his knee, looking straight back. “Yeah. You can hear that story if you come clean with me, Channie. We’ve been travelling together for nearly a year, and I still don’t know why you want to get to the end of the universe, or why you know so much about strange things like temporary work, and Anija guns, and second-hand spaceships.”

Chan’s mouth twists, the imitation of a smile hidden under nerves. “If I tell you that, you’ll think I’m crazy. I don’t want to lose my partner.”

Seungkwan shakes his head with a smile. “I can assure you that my story is crazier than anything you have. I promise not to leave you if you promise not to abandon me.”

Nothing sparks Chan’s fire like competition. Seungkwan knows that he’s won him over when he sees the challenge on his face, careful eyes flitting around Seungkwan’s gaze.

“Okay, then.” He takes a deep breath and sits up again, back straight and focus intense. “I know a lot about doing this journey because I’ve done it once before—I’ve already had all these experiences. You pick up a lot of knowledge travelling the full way across the universe. My father decided to take me away from my mother twelve years ago, wanting to give me a life away from where I was born. As soon as he let me leave that goddamn ship, I left him far behind, to find my own ship and my own partner to travel back home with.”

“And where is home?” Seungkwan asks, enraptured.

Chan leans on one hand, tilting his head as he looks at him. “The end of the universe isn’t a wall, or a drop, or a dome. It’s a door. There’s a place beyond it—outside of this universe. Outside of every universe. We call it Outer Space.”

“Erm,” Seungkwan says. “I’m pretty sure humans already took that term.”

“I’m pretty sure we used it first. I would know; Outer Space came before earth. Before anything.”

“Then how are you human if you aren’t from earth?”

“There are families representing every species from every universe, living up there in Outer Space. They manage the species; their lives, their deaths. We don’t meddle much, just make sure everything is running as it should be.”

“And you’re trying to get back to her?”

Chan nods. “My father was crazy for wanting to leave that place. He wanted the experience of ‘real life’, or something. I hate it here. All I’ve known for the past twelve years is wanting to leave. To get back to my mother again.”

Seungkwan lets out a breath of air, running a hand through his hair. He knows Chan isn’t lying—he may be a closed book of information, but he’s never said anything untruthful. The way his voice goes soft when he talks of his mother, the ease with which he talks about Outer Space. This is real. And it gives him hope.

“So you’re, like, God?”

Chan shrugs. “I’m the closest thing you’ve got, yeah.”

“Huh,” Seungkwan says. “Makes sense.”

“You’re taking this pretty well,” Chan remarks.

“I was right,” he says. “It isn’t as crazy as my story. Comes close, though.”

“Is that so?” Chan prompts.

“Yeah. This is currently my… thirteenth life? I’ve had eleven soulmates in that time, all different people, in very different places. When I told you I was looking for answers, I was hoping the end of the universe might help me understand why I’m being reincarnated. It was a long shot—something to keep me occupied for this lifetime. But what you’ve just described… it’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

Chan blinks at him. “Thirteen lives, huh?”

Seungkwan nods.

“Prove it to me.”

“That’s how I know what the Anija gun is. One of my past lives was in the Seven Planets war, as a soldier on Nerthur. I was an expert in weaponry, and I was shot by an Anija gun.”

“And you died?” Chan asks.

“No. My soulmate at the time, Wonwoo—he was a reckless genius, and he took me to get healed by Synthedrion technology.”

Chan sucks in a slow breath. “Yeah, okay, I believe you. The Synthedrion don’t exist in this universe—there’s no way you could know about them. The Seven Planets war happened, but on a very small scale—it’s nowhere near the historic event you remember it to be.”

“So I’m jumping between universes? Living out lots of different lives?”

“It sounds like it,” Chan says, chewing at his lip. “We’ll get to my mother. She’s in charge of human affairs; she’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong with you. I know you’re not supposed to be living all your lives in the same consciousness, remembering them all. The different versions of you should be separate, not successive.”

After twelve lifetimes of dead-ends, distant memories and visceral ones, dreams and loves and losses, it’s overwhelming to have Chan sitting here and discussing this with him as if it’s real, as if he understands. In the back of his mind, he’d always thought that this would never end—that he’d go through life after life like this, without understanding what was happening. But now, he has Chan. Chan, who has just told him that he can help—that he’s headed in the right direction for answers, finally. That he’s the one person in this universe—in all the universes—who can help him.

“You really think she can fix me?” he asks, feeling a little short of breath.

“Yeah,” Chan smiles, easy as anything. “I know she will.”

It’s not his fault that he bursts into tears then and there, tackling Chan in a tight hug, bringing them both to the floor. It’s Chan’s fault, for being so optimistic and promising. For being the first person in hundreds of years to hear to him and understand and say yes, I can help you. It’s his fault for being so sweet, sitting there on their ship floor, and listening to him so attentively.

“Thank you,” he says, voice wobbling.

“It’s no problem,” Chan says, his infectious laugh spreading warmth through Seungkwan’s body. “You sound like you need all the help you can get.”

Seungkwan slaps his arm playfully, still gripping him in the hug. “I’m perfectly capable, thanks. It’s not my fault I had to find God and his mother to help solve my problem.”

-

Their ship breaks down some months later. Between the second-hand condition, the blaster burns they’d sustained on Xandar, and that time they were raided on Ephte Major, he’s surprised it’s taken this long. They make an emergency landing on the nearest planet they can find, and Chan spends nearly two full days covered in grease, replacing parts of their engine and hitting at other parts that refuse to work.

“Alright,” he says, popping out of the engine hatch with such speed that it makes Seungkwan jump. “I think I’ve got it. Can you see if the engine will start for me?”

He puts down his book to jog to the pilot’s seat, hitting the command for the engine start. The ship whirs into life for the first time in two days, and they both cheer, Seungkwan running up the length of the ship again to embrace Chan in a congratulatory hug.

“You did it!”

“I did it!” Chan agrees, pulling himself up into the ship again and closing the hatch behind him. “I was worried we might have to get a new ship for a while. Turns out she just needed some love and attention.”

He pulls off the work gloves and starts stripping his greasy clothes off, throwing them into his bed space and digging around for clean ones.

“Shall we continue to Chavic Five, then?” he says, walking back up to the control panel.

“Actually,” Seungkwan starts, and Chan pauses to pay attention to him. “I was wondering if you wanted to spend a day here.”

“Why?” Chan says. “We’re okay for supplies, and fuel.”

“I know,” Seungkwan says. “But don’t you think we should at least look around while we’re here? It’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful planets for lightyears around.”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” Chan says, a smirk on his face. “You know what Florana is really known for, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, you brat,” Seungkwan says. “The planet of love—it’s full of newlyweds. I just thought it would be nice to look around while we’re here.”

“Like a date?” Chan teases. “You want to go on a date on the planet of love?”

Seungkwan purses his lips, turning around to go back to his bed space. “You know what, Lee Chan—”

“Because if so, I’d love to go,” Chan interrupts, and Seungkwan swings back around to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Seungkwan smiles, turning away again so Chan doesn’t see his satisfaction. “Great. Let’s go, then.”

They walk out into the capital city of Florana together, hand in hand, admiring the architecture of the place. The city is made up almost entirely of glass and polished metal, but it’s crawling with vibrant green vines, flowers lining every road and trees sprouting out through the rooves of buildings. It’s a planet that suits the many different species that come here, a pleasing mix of manufactured and natural, creating a bright, open space for couples to wander around. They go between the shops together, not wanting to spend their precious credits, but content to admire the beautiful ornaments and hand-crafted tools for sale. They do treat themselves to the famous snack of the planet: small love-heart shaped candies, made for couples to feed to each other. Chan and Seungkwan comply, of course, in between much teasing and laughing over the colours their tongues turn with the different flavours of candy.

When there’s only a few hours of daylight left, they walk out onto the beach lining the front of the city, the sand soft between their toes. Word has it the stars on Florana are some of the most vibrant in the universe, so they’ve agreed to stick around until dark, waiting to see the sight for themselves before they continue their travels.

“You know, as mad as I am that my Dad took me so far away from home, there are upsides to it,” Chan remarks, kicking up some sand gently.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like this,” he says, gesturing around. “I never would’ve come to this planet if I’d never left home. Only seen it from a distance. And it’s not quite the same.”

“Does it make the long journey bearable? Seeing all these places?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing over at Seungkwan. “I didn’t appreciate it on the trip here, but I suppose I have better company now.”

“Oh, is that me?” he says. “Am I the better company?”

“Shut up,” Chan laughs, swinging their joined hands together. “What I mean is, I’m really glad you’re here, Hyung. I wouldn’t want to be travelling to the end of the universe with anyone else.”

“Wow,” he says. He’s going for a teasing tone, but his voice comes out slightly choked up, chest warm at Chan’s words. “High words of praise from God himself.”

“Will you shut up about that?” Chan laughs, pulling Seungkwan closer. “I hate you.”

“Hate you too, Channie,” he says affectionately, and up this close he can see every eyelash on his face, every millimetre of smooth skin. He brings his arm up over Chan’s shoulders as they meander along the beach, watching the sun set beyond the waves, casting pretty pinks and reds on the water below.

There are other couples milling about too, all in their own conversations, or what Seungkwan assumes must be their species’ equivalent to conversation. He scans the sea front up and down, but his eyes stop on the figure of a man, lanky and thin with a familiar ruffle of dark hair. He has his face turned away, but his outline is strikingly that of Wonwoo, in some plain, earth-style clothes. He’s holding hands with another man he doesn’t recognise.

“Wonwoo?” he says, looking in his direction, but it’s not loud enough for him to hear.

“What?” Chan says, looking up in confusion.

“Wonwoo?” Seungkwan shouts, letting go of Chan to stride across the beach towards the other man.

“Seungkwan!” Chan hisses, running after him. Everyone is staring at them, and he knows why; he’s breaking the first rule of Florana. You don’t interact with other couples, you’re here to focus on your partner. Wonwoo still doesn’t notice him, so Seungkwan doesn’t care much about the people looking, focused on kicking through soft sand to reach his second soulmate, his iris flower.

Only he reaches him, and puts a hand on his shoulder, and when Wonwoo spins around, he can see it’s not Wonwoo at all. The frame is the same, but the face is all different—he’s got blue, expressive eyes, a big smile, a nose that looks like it was once broken. The man looks at him in confusion and mild surprise, not recognising the stranger interrupting his date.

“Seungkwan?” Chan asks from behind him.

“Sorry!” Seungkwan blurts out to the blue-eyed man. “Thought you were someone else… but you’re not…”

Not-Wonwoo and his partner look at each other, baffled. Seungkwan starts to back away, cheeks going red at the attention from the couples around them.

“Nothing to see!” Chan calls politely, a hand on Seungkwan’s arm as he pulls him away. “Go back to—whatever you were doing,” he says to the staring species.

“Sorry,” he mutters again, this time to Chan. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My Wonwoo is from another universe.”

“It’s okay,” Chan reassures him. “But let’s go back to the ship before we get kicked off world, yeah?”

They trudge through the sand in silence for a little while as they distance themselves from the crowd at the beach.

“Do you miss him?” Chan asks eventually.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah. All of them. Your eleven soulmates.”

Seungkwan tries to give him a small smile. “Yeah. Of course. I love them—it’s hard not to miss people you love, right?”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees. “I get that. You seemed so anxious about seeing Wonwoo, though.”

“He was my second soulmate—it’s been the longest since I’ve seen him or Seungcheol. I miss them a lot. And Yena—my baby girl.”

“You had a daughter?” Chan says, eyes soft. They’ve reached their ship, and Chan gestures for Seungkwan to go up the steps first.

“Yeah. I miss her too. I’m grateful to have had lives with them, that I can look back on and remember, but… it’s also hard to move on, when you know you can never have them back.”

Chan has to wipe a tear from his face for him to even realise he’s crying. He gently leads Seungkwan over to his bed space, sitting down next to him and resting a comforting arm around his shoulders. He leans into Chan, needing the contact.

“I’m sorry I ruined our evening,” he says, wetly. “I should’ve thought about it before I did something like that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chan says. “I had a good time.”

“I wanted to kiss you under the Florana stars,” he admits, raising his head to glance up at Chan. “But I went and fucked it up, I guess.”

Chan’s eyes are bright when he smiles at the confession. He leans back on Seungkwan’s bed, reaching for the window panel. With a swipe of his hand, the wall of his bed space turns transparent, giving them a clear view of the beach outside, sitting under the Florana night sky. It’s as beautiful as promised; the galaxies vibrant in the reflections of the water, glowing in purples and pinks and blues. He swears he can see every star twinkle; a cluster of shooting stars leave trails in their wake every few seconds.

“Here’s your second chance,” Chan says, and Seungkwan turns his attention back to him.

“You’re telling me I had a window this whole time and you never told me?” he says.

Chan rolls his eyes, and Seungkwan laughs, going in to kiss him sweetly on the lips. Chan reciprocates happily, pulling him down onto the bed with a hand at the back of his head, a soft giggle leaving his lips when his head hits the pillow. When Seungkwan pulls back, the galaxies are shining in Chan’s eyes, clear and sparkling and so, so beautiful.

-

They find their soulmate marks some four earth years later, the tiny orange amaryllis behind Seungkwan’s ear missed by Chan completely, at first. It’s only when Chan rolls over in his sleep and Seungkwan spots the familiar sight of the red chrysanthemum does they realise that they’ve appeared. Neither of them can be sure when they happened, but neither of them really care. Chan is thrilled to have a soulmate mark; something he’d observed as a child, but a distant dream to him, isolated from his kind. Seungkwan feels a familiar comfort in the sight, but the thrill of a new mark never quite gets old. Someone he cares for loves him back just as much; it’s a warm reminder, a kindness of the universe. That he has Chan, right now, if nothing else.

-

The end of the universe looks a lot like the rest of the universe, if you ignore the huge wormhole looming ahead of them.

“You’re sure about this?” Seungkwan asks nervously. “This is your front door?”

“You think I don’t recognise my home?” Chan says, his voice shaking a little. “I can’t really believe we’ve made it.”

“We’re not going to fly into the wormhole and die, right?”

“I promise you we’ll fly into the wormhole and come out the other end intact,” Chan says, spinning in his chair to face Seungkwan. “Don’t make this a habit in any future lives, though. Most wormholes will, in fact, kill you.”

“If you’re right, and this is it, hopefully there won’t be any future lives,” Seungkwan says, absent-mindedly stroking the hair at the back of Chan’s neck.

“You’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah,” he says, without hesitation. “I’ll be happy to live and die with you. For the last time.”

Chan brings him down into a kiss, familiar and easy. “Then let’s go and see my mother.”

“Are you excited?” Seungkwan asks, taking a seat and buckling in.

He spins around in the pilot’s seat, grin wide. “The most excited I’ve ever been. I hope she still recognises me. It’s been twenty-four years, after all.”

“Believe me, she’ll know you.”

Chan smiles at him gratefully and pulls a lever at his side. “Ready?”

He braces himself in his seat. “No point waiting any longer.”

Chan slams a button on the control panel, and the ship immediately starts rumbling, building up fuel in the thrusters. “Let’s go!” he yells, putting a foot down on the pedal, and the ship shoots forwards, heading straight for the centre of the wormhole.

The ride is bumpy—the thrusters whine in their attempt to steady the ship as the wormhole sucks them in, killing the lights in the ship, blanketing the screen in front of them with black, no stars, no light. For a while, Seungkwan just shakes in his seat, unseeing and rattled. He sits in place as they’re bumped around by the pull of the wormhole, trusting Chan to get them to the other side.

He does, of course. The ship is suddenly flooded with white light, blinding him for a minute or two until he can blink the spots from his eyes and see out of the ship’s front window. Below them is a sprawling city with all types of land matters and buildings spread out further than the eye can see. Rainclouds hover over one part of the city, raining only over a collection of water-species housing—plain flatlands are over at the other side, seemingly bare. Most of the place is filled with tall buildings, people in streets, crowds waving up at their ship as it passes. He supposes they don’t get many visitors here.

Chan brings them to land in a clearing by a patch of woods, releasing the ship door as quickly as he can, before the engine has even stopped whirring down. Seungkwan follows him down the ship steps, but Chan is already sprinting ahead of him, towards a cottage house at the edge of the forest. As he comes up to the front door, it opens from the other side, a beautiful middle-aged woman stepping out and looking around with wide, bright eyes.

“Mama!” Chan calls, not slowing down on his approach.

“Channie?” she says, opening her arms up to embrace Chan in a hug as soon as he reaches her, the two of them intertwined, clutching onto each other tightly. Seungkwan follows him at walking pace, wanting to give them a little space.

“Mama…” Chan says, face creasing up. “I’ve missed you so much.” Tears track down his face, and when they part, his Mama is dabbing at her eyes, too.

“Oh, baby… I thought you were never coming back,” she says, clutching at his hands, afraid to let him go again.

“I’m here,” Chan says, pushing some hair behind her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you so much,” she says, bringing him in for a hug again, the two of them swaying together gently.

Seungkwan reaches the couple, and Chan separates from his mother to take his hand and pull him forwards. “Mama, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Seungkwan.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Seungkwan says, bowing. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, I see,” Chan’s mother says, smile wide, looking between him and her son. “How lovely to meet you! Have you been looking after him?”

“As best I can,” Seungkwan replies, and Chan jostles him playfully.

“In that case, I’m excited to hear plenty about you too, Seungkwan,” she smiles. “Come in!”

They sit down over a drink and Chan explains everything. How his father had pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night and flown him across the universe for twelve years. Meeting Seungkwan, setting off back again, their encounters and adventures. His Mama listens carefully, quietly, reacting at all the right moments.

“Actually, Ma,” Chan explains. “Seungkwan has travelled all this way to see you, too. We were hoping you could help him.”

“I can do my best for my son-in-law,” she says kindly. “What’s wrong?”

Seungkwan takes a breath in. He’s not sure where to start. “As I understand it, you’re in charge of human lives, Mrs. Lee?”

“I am,” she confirms. “And please, you can call me Mama.”

“Okay,” he says, a little bashfully. Chan’s Mama is so dignified, he’s almost scared to admit to her that he’s the flaw in her system. “I seem to be having a problem with… universes. I can’t stop coming back to life. Chan is my twelfth soulmate, in my thirteenth life.”

“Really now?” she says, her mug leaving her mouth as she looks at him, intrigued. “That certainly isn’t supposed to be happening.”

“I’ve gathered as much,” he says, glancing over at Chan. “Is there something we can do?”

“Let’s take a look at your lifeline and see,” she says, standing up. “Maybe that will give us answers.”

“Ooh!” Chan says delightedly, standing up out of his seat. “You’re so lucky, Seungkwannie! I’ve only been in the souls building a few times, and Mama has never let me see my own lifeline.”

“There’s usually no need for someone to see their own lifeline,” she says, standing up and leading them to the cottage door. “Seungkwan is a unique case.”

“What is a lifeline?” Seungkwan asks, as they follow Mama out of the cottage, setting off into the forest together. “Like, my timeline?”

“You’ll see,” Chan teases, taking Seungkwan’s hand in his own and skipping down the path, swinging their hands together. He can’t help but smile at the sight of the delighted Chan, finally in his element. He seems more alive here than Seungkwan has ever seen him; that cottage had even felt like him, his presence engrained in its aura. It’s not hard to tell that he belongs here.

It doesn’t take them long to come to a small hut in the middle of a clearing. Mama goes in first, and Chan pushes Seungkwan in after her—when they shut the door, there’s barely enough space for the three of them. There’s nothing else in the hut but a light source on the ceiling.

“Put your hand there,” Mama says, pointing at a square on the wall that’s a darker colour than the rest of it. Seungkwan complies, resting his palm on the slab, and a second later a screen appears on the other wall, listing thirteen different codes. The first, UN17, is in green, while the rest are in red, various error notices popping up next to them.

“What are they?” he asks, the three of them staring at the screen.

“The first one is your original universe,” she says, pointing at UN17. “The rest are the universes you’ve lived in since then, except the system can’t find a lifeline rooted in each of these universes. You shouldn’t have been there.”

“What does that mean?”

“There are many versions of you across the multiverse, Seungkwan. That is normal. You, however, have not lived any of your other lives; you’ve been in universes you should not have occupied.”

“Why?” he asks, voice hushed. “How did I not break the multiverse, or something?”

“You nearly did,” she says, pointing at universe three. “You made some major changes to the Seven Planets war, here. Thankfully for the better. Here, however,” she says, pointing at the seventh on the list. Jihoon. “You brought someone who was meant to be dead, back to life?”

“Erm,” Seungkwan says. “It was an accident?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “No harm done. That was the universe bending to accommodate for you and your soulmate; it’s not your fault. It’s a good thing you found Channie, though. I’m not sure the multiverse could’ve taken much more.”

“Why was I appearing there if I was never meant to exist there in the first place?”

“I have a theory about that,” she says, swiping the screen away. Behind it there’s a door—he’s not sure how he’d missed it before. “Let’s see what your lifeline looks like, first.”

She opens the door ahead of them into an enormous room, white and bright and shiny. In the room are stands, thousands of rectangular blocks that come up to his waist, going further back than he can see. On each block is a vase, and in each vase, a red chrysanthemum, proud and pretty and deep red.

“What is this?” he breathes, trying to take in the enormous room.

“It’s every human in the multiverse with the mark of a red chrysanthemum, born in 1998,” Mama replies. “Let’s take a walk to find your code, shall we? Careful not to touch anything, okay?”

She leads the way down the side of the room, scanning the numbers on each podium as they walk, on the lookout for Seungkwan’s identifier.

“Mama?” Chan asks from behind him, voice full of something like nostalgia. “Have I been here before?”

She glances up at her son for a second before going back to looking at the podiums. “I used to bring you around on my routine checks sometimes. Maybe you have been in this room. Why?”

“It feels familiar,” he murmurs, looking around.

“You okay?” Seungkwan says.

“I’m fine,” he says, pressing a reassuring kiss to Seungkwan’s clothed shoulder. “Keep looking.”

“Aha,” Mama says from ahead of them, suddenly walking faster. “I think I’ve found you, Seungkwan.”

He peers around Mama to see what she’s heading towards. Ahead of them, on the path, there’s a red chrysanthemum laid in the middle of the floor. When they approach, he can see twelve petals laid around it, leaving it partially bare. There’s an empty vase on the podium next to it, tipped over onto its side.

“What happened?” he asks, crouching down.

“The petals are for your soulmates,” Mama explains. “The flower is your lifeline, and each petal that falls is a mark you’ve given away, a piece of yourself left with another.”

“Wow,” he breathes, touching one of the petals gently. It’s soft to the touch, very much alive despite its detachment from the flower. He wonders which soulmate it’s for.

“This confirms my theory about your travels through the multiverse,” Mama says, fingers braced on the floor, the three of them huddled around the chrysanthemum. “If the flower is your lifeline, then the vase is your universe. You see how they’re all slightly different shapes?”

He looks at the podiums near them. The empty vase on his podium is broad at the bottom and narrow at the top, but the one to the left is narrow and tall, the one to the right more like a little teacup. Each of them, different.

“The flower is supposed to be contained in the vase to keep you inside your universe. Without the containment, you couldn’t lead a straightforward life; your flower kept trying to put you back, and you ended up in all those different universes.”

“But why is it on the floor in the first place?” he says.

“I think I know,” Chan says from behind him, voice small. Both he and Mama turn to look at him.

Chan looks at them both guiltily, then rounds Seungkwan to sit on the other side of the flower, cross legged. He picks it up by the stem gently, holding it up to the light, as if inspecting something. “When you brought me in here, Mama, I would’ve been young, right?”

“Yes,” Mama replies, watching him.

“I suppose that’s why I didn’t remember until I saw this place again. We came in here before, and you were checking the system—you told me I could run as far as I could down the room, as long as I didn’t touch anything. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” she breathes, focused on Chan.

“Only I ran to here, and I stopped,” he says, looking at the flower in his hand. “Because even though all the flowers in this room are the same, there was something about this one that felt so familiar.” He touches the mark behind his ear with one hand, eyes distant. “I wanted to hold it, so I reached out for it. But I was small—I couldn’t reach the flower, so I stretched my hardest, and tipped over the vase. The flower came onto the floor, and you called me to come back, because you were done. I knew I shouldn’t have touched the flower—it was your one rule.” He looks up at his mother, then over at Seungkwan, before looking back at the flower. “I didn’t want to tell you I’d done something wrong. So I left it, and ran back to you, and we left to continue your inspection.”

“I remember it,” Seungkwan says, staring at him. “I was fourteen, and I’d come out of an audition, and out of nowhere, it felt like I was being wrenched away from myself. I don’t have any memories from my life after that; just Seungcheol’s universe, then a string of lives I shouldn’t have had.”

“Channie picking your flower,” Mama says. “Uprooted from your universe.”

“Seungkwan,” Chan says, speechless for the first time in as long as he’s known him. “I’m so sorry. If I had any idea what I’d done…”

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching out to entangle his fingers with Chan’s. “Really. I’ve met so many amazing people. I’ve met you. Maybe this was meant to happen, after all.”

“In a way, it was,” Mama agrees. “Without your intended universe to anchor you, your flower would’ve been pulled to its matching parts; you were brought to universes where your soulmates existed, to be with them. It’s no accident that you’ve met Chan. Everyone you’ve met will be in your home universe, too; they’re all your potential soulmates from UN17.”

“Everyone will be there?” he asks. “Even Chan?”

“Even Chan,” she confirms, smiling. “Once you go back, you’ll be able to see them all again.”

The wave of relief that crashes through him is overwhelming. “I can go back? I can have them all?”

“Sure,” she says, smiling. “We just need to put your flower back in your vase, and you’ll snap back home.”

“I’ll be fixed?”

She nods, kindly. “You’ll get to finish your original life, and you won’t come back after that. You’ll exist in that place, contained in your home universe, and you’ll shine, Seungkwan.”

He puts his face in his hands, heady relief flushing under every inch of his skin. “I thought I’d be doing this forever.”

“You can go home,” Chan says kindly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I told you we’d fix it, right?” Seungkwan looks up at him, blinking a few times, before he nods.

“Mama?” he says, nervous.

“Yes?”

“Do I have to go home now? It can wait a few more years, right?”

Mama smiles at him. “Well, I don’t see why not. What harm can a few more years do?”

He laughs, a release of pent up emotion, stepping around his flower to bring Chan into a tight hug.

“You’re not going back yet?” Chan asks, clutching him back just as tight.

“As if I’d leave you,” he says into the crook of his neck. “I’ll be going home at the end of my long, happy life, here, with you.”

Chan picks him up and spins him around the two of them laughing with joy until Mama scolds them, telling them to be mindful of the other flowers. She’s scooping up his petals carefully placing them and the flower on the podium beside the empty vase.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like when you return,” Mama warns. “All these marks—all your memories. Human’s aren’t supposed to do as much as you’ve done.”

“A few more years here won’t change the outcome of that,” he says, hands around Chan’s waist. “I’m willing to face whatever’s back at home for me. I’ve already had twelve lives more than I should’ve—I can handle one last one.”

“You’re very special,” Mama tells him, reaching out to stroke his cheek lightly. “I’m glad Channie has you.”

“And I’m so lucky to have him,” Seungkwan says. Chan smiles at his side, resting a head on his shoulder.

They walk from the room together, flower left on his podium, awaiting his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amaryllis flower: determination and pride
> 
> space travel part of this au inspired by guardians of the galaxy and doctor who, which i also borrowed the species/planet names from :)
> 
> yall! it was chan's fault all along! are you surprised?


	14. SVT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the only chapter without any real trigger warnings? fainting, i guess

They walk out of the lobby together, Ma walking ahead of him to push the door open. He reaches out one hand to push at the glass door as he skips through behind her, running down the steps and into the busy Seoul street, beaming. There are nerves knotting at his stomach, but he’s buzzed on the knowledge that he’d done his best in there—he’d sung for some important people, and if they liked it enough, he could be their new trainee. This could be the start of something big.

“Are we still going for ice cream?” he says, slowing down to walk beside Ma. She takes his hand, and he’s too old to be coddled by her, but he’s in too much of a good mood to pull away.

“It’s the middle of February, Kwannie!”

“But I did well, right?” Seungkwan pouts, giving her his biggest, saddest eyes.

“Sure,” she says, giving in far too easily. “Let’s get ice cream.”

They’re only staying in Seoul for one night, for the audition, two beds in a single hotel room before their flight back to Jeju tomorrow. So when Seungkwan screams in the bathroom, accompanied by the loud thud of him dropping his moisturiser on the tiled floor, his Ma can hear it loud and clear.

“Seungkwan?” she shouts. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Ma!” he shouts, distressed, staring in the mirror, hand on his heart. She tries the handle on the bathroom door, still locked.

“Baby? What is it? Are you hurt?”

“I’m—I—” he stammers.

“Can you open the door?” she asks, urgently.

There’s silence for a moment as he stands there, stunned, before forcing himself to move, reaching out towards the door and clicking the lock open. She pushes open the door carefully, as Seungkwan backs away, holding his towel up to his chest, hair still dripping from his shower.

“Baby?” she says, carefully. “What is it?”

He looks up at her, stunned, and slowly moves his towel down so that it rests lower on his chest. When she sees it, she gasps, one hand over her mouth.

He turns to the mirror again, looking at it himself. Over his heart, there’s a bouquet of flowers, solid and defined, etched into his skin. They’re bunched together, but each a distinctive species, easily identifiable if he had a soulmate book to hand. The sunflower is the most recognisable, tall and proud at the back, as is the lavender, dainty and pretty at the front of the bunch. They span all sorts of colours, painting his skin into a rainbow.

“What—who’s is it?” Ma asks, staring at the marks, stunned.

“I don’t know!” he says, panic clawing at his stomach, fear sitting in his bones.

“What do you mean?”

“Ma, there’s so many of them!” he says, voice echoing around the bathroom. “I don’t even—I’m only fourteen, I don’t know who—why they’ve appeared—”

“Okay, okay,” Ma says, pushing him back gently to sit on the toilet seat. “Maybe it’s a mistake? Maybe they’ll disappear in a few days? Don’t worry, baby, I’m sure we’ll figure it out. I’ll google it!” She rushes from the bathroom to grab her phone, stress in her step, leaving Seungkwan to stare at himself in the mirror, hand over his flowers. It just feels like skin, the same as it had been yesterday, when it was bare and unmarked.

Google doesn’t have any answers for them. Nor does the doctor they visit a few days later, nor does the soulmate specialist he sees in Seoul, on his return. Pledis call, offering him a space in their dorm, for a full-time trainee slot in their company. He nearly doesn’t take it—what would they do if they found out about him? A freak of nature, an anomaly in the universe?

“Don’t let this put you off,” Ma says, buttoning up his shirt so that neither of them have to see the offensive marks, bright and happy and baffling to those who know about them. “You can be a singer, Seungkwannie. You should go, if it’s what you want. Just don’t tell anyone about these. Not yet.”

“I won’t,” he assures her. He doesn’t want to be an outsider, a freak goggled at by the other trainees. “I’ll keep it a secret. I’ll debut. I will.”

They have the fruitless appointment with the specialist in the morning before he says goodbye to his Ma at the Pledis doorstep. A mentor shows him to his dorms, empty in the middle of the day.

“You’ll enrol at your school tomorrow,” his mentor tells him, someone from the company. He shows Seungkwan around, waits for him to dump his bags in the bedroom he’ll be sharing, then takes him up the road to the Pledis building. There are classrooms ready for language lessons, music rooms for singing lessons, a producer at work in a studio. The boys’ dance studio is at the end of the corridor, their last destination. His mentor pushes open the door to reveal two boys already in there, talking together, both looking up nervously at the sound of the door opening.

“And these are two of your fellow trainees, Chwe Hansol and Lee Chan. They’re also starting today, so I’ll leave you boys to get acquainted.”

The mentor leaves him there, standing in the doorway, so he supposes he should go in and introduce himself.

“Hi!” he says, crossing the space of the dance studio. “I’m Boo Seungkwan!”

“Hi,” Chan says. He looks young, younger than Seungkwan, face earnest and open. “You’re starting today too?”

“Yeah,” he says, sitting down with them. “Are you guys moving into the dorms?”

“Yeah,” Hansol confirms. His awkward smile bares the braces lining his teeth, and Seungkwan is endeared. “You?”

“Same,” he says. “I had to. I’ve come all the way from Jeju.”

“Really?” Chan says. “Wow! I’ve only ever been there on a school trip. I bet it’s so nice to live there.”

“I’m really going to miss it,” he says, truthfully. He’s going to miss his family more, though. “Where are you guys from?”

He quickly learns that he and Hansol are the same age, but Chan is a year younger. According to Chan, there’s already several older trainees who Pledis have in line for a boy group, and if they work hard and show perseverance, they can be put on the line-up too. He makes his resolution then; he will debut with them. No matter what his stupid soulmate marks mean; no matter who finds out about them. He won’t let it scare him away from his dream.

He meets a couple of the other boys that night. There’s Soonyoung and Wonwoo, who also live in the dorm. Soonyoung is loud and straightforward and immediately easy to get on with; Wonwoo seems more reserved, but studious, with his head down and focused on his English homework. Soonyoung thrives in their entertainment class, picking up their teacher’s cues quickly and easily. Then there’s Jihoon and Mingyu, who he meets the next day. They travel in rather than living in the dorms, but they seem close with the others, so Seungkwan supposes he’ll get to know them soon enough.

“Have you guys met Seungcheol yet?” Mingyu asks them as they wait for their dance instructor to show up, the three new boys sat in nervous silence as the others talk like old friends.

“Who?”

“He’d better get here before Teacher does,” Jihoon says, tying up his long hair into a little ponytail at the back. “Or she won’t be happy.”

“I’m here!” a boy says, bustling in the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Wonwoo murmurs.

“Hyung, one of these days you’re not going to make it with a minute to spare,” Jihoon says, looking up at him disapprovingly from the floor.

“I made it, didn’t I?” Seungcheol pouts, taking his coat off and dumping his bag in the corner of the room.

“Come and say hello to the new trainees!” Soonyoung says, slinging an arm around Hansol. “They keep getting younger!”

“Hi,” Seungcheol says, shaking their hands politely. “How old are you guys?”

“Fourteen,” he and Hansol chorus.

“Thirteen,” Chan provides, only a second later.

“I was fourteen when I joined,” Seungcheol tells Soonyoung.

“Well, so was I,” Soonyoung says. “But Chan seems like a baby.”

“No…” Chan complains half-heartedly. “There’s someone younger than me, isn’t there? I met that kid Samuel yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mingyu says. “He’s the real baby.”

-

Between the homesickness, the exhausting hours of school and practise, and trying to pass eighth grade, he finds himself making a life in Seoul, so far from home, so removed from his friends and family. It’s bearable because of the boys; the ones he lives with don’t make a dull moment in the dorm, and the ones who travel in are just as hard working and busy as him, and it’s easy to bond over their mutual goal for debut. Chan is an excellent dancer, and Hansol is training in rapping while Seungkwan is most focused on singing, so they don’t have a lot of overlapping lessons. It’s okay; everyone makes him feel welcomed, and he does his best in return to make them laugh, to make close friends.

They get a few more trainees in summer—Junhui, who does his best to communicate in limited Korean, and Seokmin, an anxious boy with an amazing voice Seungkwan is almost jealous of. He finds it hard to hold any real grudge, though; he and Seokmin click quickly, the other boy’s open and innocent nature making him easy to get along with.

Things start to change in August. They’re in the dance practise room, their teacher taking them through the steps to a Super Junior song. It’s late into the night, but he doesn’t realise it’s hit midnight until the lights go off and Soonyoung scurries from the room, stepping back in with a cake moments later, leading a chorus of Happy Birthday.

“ _Happy birthday to you!”_ he sings, racking his brain for who’s birthday it is.

He slides over to Mingyu in the limited light of the room, but Soonyoung is already approaching Seungcheol with the cake, giving Seungkwan his answer. “How old is he?” he asks, instead.

“Seventeen,” Mingyu answers, as the room finishes the chorus of Happy Birthday.

Seungkwan cheers and claps along with the others as Seungcheol blows out his candles. Someone turns the light back on, and Seungcheol blinks at his cake, dazed. Then he looks up, searching the room until he meets eyes with Seungkwan, staring at him in confusion.

“Happy birthday, Hyung!” he says.

“Happy birthday!” Chan echoes, and Seungcheol startles, tries to pull a smile onto his face. He puts the cake down on the table and starts cutting it into pieces, shoulders hunched up from the attention.

“Come and get some,” he says, gesturing at the table. The room of teenagers immediately converge around the table, grabbing for cake, leaving Seungkwan is stuck outside of the crowd, waiting for someone to move out of the way. Seungcheol is staring at him again.

“You okay, Hyung?” he says.

“Hmm?” Seungcheol says, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, fine.” He backs away into the space of the studio, leaving Seungkwan to grab his cake.

He’s not fine, though. He keeps glancing at Seungkwan for the rest of their practise, stumbling over steps he was nailing before. Maybe he’s feeling old, or something.

-

The longer he lives in Seoul, the closer he becomes with the other trainees. He especially grows close to Hansol, whom he finds cute and earnest. It’s the easiest to talk to him about his worries, because they’re the same age, and they’d started at the same time. It’s the easiest to drag him to the convenience store late at night, when he’s craving something outside of their diet regime; it’s the easiest to slide into his bed when he’s feeling lonely, curled up to his side, enjoying the contact. It’s the easiest to want to kiss him when they’re talking, and Hansol is laughing, smiling so prettily. His stomach flutters at the thought; that he wants to kiss him, maybe hold his hand on the way to dance practise and have it mean something more than friendship. He lays in bed and kicks at his covers, battling with himself; should he confess to Hansol? Is it too soon? If Hansol doesn’t like him back, will it make things awkward? He doesn’t want to lose his closest friend in Seoul.

Eventually, he goes to Seokmin, his confidant, his fellow vocalist.

“You should tell him!” Seokmin says, excited. “You could have a soulmate by the time we debut!”

“I’m hoping debut won’t take that long,” he says. “Seungcheol has been here so long already—how long will they keep him waiting?”

“I don’t know,” Seokmin shrugs. “These things take time, don’t they? Plenty of time for you and Hansol to date.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me like that? He’s my best friend. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Hansol is so nice, though!” Seokmin enthuses. “He might be awkward for a bit, but he’ll be okay. He’s American, isn’t he? They’re laid back about these things.”

Seungkwan snorts. “That’s not a good enough reason to ask him out, Hyung.”

“Yes it is!” Seokmin defends. “Hey, listen to this; I’ve totally got a genius plan.”

“Where are we going?” Hansol asks, following Seungkwan out of the dorm with a scarf wrapped tight around his face. There’s crisp snow covering the ground around them, cleared away from the streets, but not from the steps outside their dorm.

“It’s Christmas day!” Seungkwan says. “We have to do something!”

“On our own?” Hansol asks, shutting the door behind them.

He pulls up his own scarf to cover his blush. “I want to spend time with my best friend before we go home for Chinese New Year!” he protests, grabbing Hansol’s hand to pull him forwards. “Is that so bad?”

“Okay,” Hansol shrugs, smiling as easy as ever.

“We’re going shopping,” he explains. “It’s my Ma’s birthday soon. I need to get her something.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“How will I know what to get her?” Hansol complains. “I’ve never even met your Ma. Also, I’m really bad at present buying.”

“Well, we’re going to look until I find something,” Seungkwan says. “I haven’t seen her in months. I want to show that I’ve missed her.”

“I think she knows,” Hansol says. “With the amount of times you’ve cried down the phone to her.”

“Hey!” He punches his arm. “I’ve got better at not doing that recently!”

“Yeah, you have,” Hansol agrees. “What changed?”

“Guess I finally settled in,” he says. “I still miss her, but it’s not like I can’t function anymore, you know? I’ve made a routine here. A dip in the bed.”

“Sure,” Hansol agrees. “I get that. I get to go home more often than you, though.”

“Alright, don’t rub it in,” he grumbles.

They wander the shops together, but Seungkwan can’t focus, too worked up on what he wants to say, too anxious to get the words out. Eventually they find a cute window-flowers set that he thinks she would enjoy tending to, then head to a coffee shop before they turn in for the day.

He’ll say it here, he thinks. Before they go back to their dorm, where anyone could hear him. The setting is perfect—the shop is decorated for Christmas, cosy corners and wood furniture with a candle lit at each table. Hansol comes back with their drinks, sliding Seungkwan’s mulled wine towards him. He sits down, and Seungkwan turns to face him, only Hansol is looking straight over his head at something.

“Hansol?” he asks, turning around. Behind him is only the café wall, covered in fake snow and Christmas decorations. “What is it?”

“Oh,” Hansol says, pink faced as he sits down. “Nothing.” He’s looking around nervously, as if worried who might see them.

He turns to look again, huffing, and finally sees it. There, over their heads, is a delicately placed sprig of mistletoe, resting innocently against the wall.

“Oh,” he says. “Is that making you uncomfortable? We can move if you don’t want to—”

“I do want to—” Hansol interrupts.

“Sit by it,” Seungkwan finishes.

Hansol swallows.

“You do want to?” Seungkwan asks, tentative.

“Sit by it?”

“Yeah.” Seungkwan watches him carefully. “Or anything else.”

“Well. Only if you do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The first time they kiss, it’s a little awkward and very shy, their teeth clicking once before they properly find each other’s mouths. Seungkwan grabs at Hansol’s hand before he can pull away, and presses in from a different angle. There, it feels nice— lips against lips sends a warmth through him, pulls a smile at his mouth, sets off fireworks in his head. It’s not the confession he’d planned, but when he walks home with his hand in Hansol’s and his taste on his lips, he finds he doesn’t mind.

-

They get two new trainees after they come back from their break. Jeonghan and Joshua, both already seventeen, which relieves him; Seungcheol has been down ever since Doyoon had left the company. It’s good for him to gain some more same-age friends.

They’re weird, though. He gets introduced to Jeonghan first, who gives him the strangest look, eyes lingering on him even as Hansol is trying to introduce himself. Joshua arrives a few days afterwards, fresh from America, and the look he sends Seungkwan is one of downright shock. He doesn’t say anything, though, just shoots him the same looks Seungcheol has been sending him the past six months. They’re odd, these Hyungs.

With Jeonghan and Joshua moving into the dorm, the company encourages the other boys to move in, too, with the promise of a debut coming sometime in the next year. Seungcheol and Jihoon comply, though Mingyu and Seokmin are still travelling in until the company can provide a set debut date.

On the second night after Joshua’s arrival, he’s up in the early hours of the morning, throat parched and missing his sisters. He slides out of Hansol’s grasp and tip toes into the kitchen, making his way through the dark of the flat by intuition to grab a glass of water. On his way back to his room, he pauses in the corridor, the sound of his own name in Seungcheol’s hushed voice catching his attention from the other bedroom, currently occupied by the three oldest members.

“What about him?” Jeonghan whispers.

“I saw your faces when you saw him,” Seungcheol says, direct. “I know what went through your mind when you recognised him.”

“And what’s that?” Joshua asks.

“You have memories,” Seungcheol says. “Of a life that isn’t yours, but it’s you. You were Seungkwan’s soulmate; you had a life with him.”

Jeonghan and Joshua are silent.

“I’m guessing these memories appeared on your seventeenth birthday. You didn’t know what to make of them until you saw him.”

“What are they?” Jeonghan blurts out. “Your memories?”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment. “Quiet life in a Seoul apartment. He was a teacher; I was an estate agent. We brought up a kid together. Yours?”

“Olympic athletes. We won silver at paired skating, got our marks at the awards ceremony.”

There’s another moment of silence. Then Joshua speaks. “We met in school,” he says, shortly. “Lived a life together in America.”

“So I’m right,” Seungcheol says, excited. “You guys remember things too?”

There’s more silence. Then Jeonghan says, “I don’t understand.”

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to have an answer. “Do you guys… do you have his flower?”

“You have one too?” Joshua says, voice breathy.

Before Seungkwan can move, the light inside the room flickers on, flooding the room with light, spilling out into the corridor. He’s stood frozen at the open doorway, eyes wide, Seungcheol stood right in front of him, one hand on the light switch.

“What are you guys talking about?” he says, voice wobbling. Joshua is looking at him, stoic; Jeonghan watches Seungcheol from his bed, waiting for him to speak.

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol starts, glancing around at the other two, who make no move to help him. “Do you have any…soulmate marks?”

He feels like a deer caught in the headlights. He’d been so careful; always changing in the bathroom, always locking the door when he showers. But now he’s been caught, by his oldest Hyung, and he doesn’t even understand how. Because of memories? Memories that aren’t real?

Faced with Seungkwan’s fear, Seungcheol tugs at the collar of his own shirt, loose enough to pull the fabric down, revealing the skin over his heart. There, on his chest, is a red chrysanthemum flower, single and beautiful. Jeonghan is standing from his bed, walking over to see. “Mine is there too,” he says, voice still low for the late hour. He pulls his collar down, and they both look at him; sure enough, there’s a red chrysanthemum there, almost identical to Seungcheol’s, only facing a different direction.

Josh stands too, hand over his heart, big eyes shining in the low light. “We all have one? What does it mean?”

“It’s Seungkwan’s flower,” Seungcheol says, excited. “Right? Do you have flowers?” He’s staring at the same place on Seungkwan’s chest, as if he can look right through his night shirt and see his flower there. “The purple astilbe, do you remember?”

Seungkwan clutches his shirt close to his chest, desperate to keep his secret there, covered and private and belonging only to him. Not to this Hyung; not these strangers who have walked into his life only days ago. “I don’t remember. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you have our flowers, don’t you?” Seungcheol presses, and Seungkwan steps back, away from him.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not your soulmate.”

“But you were,” Seungcheol insists. “Before.”

“Hey,” Jeonghan says gently. “Don’t push it.”

“I just want to date Hansol, and debut, and become a singer,” Seungkwan says, voice raising. “I don’t want these marks; I don’t want whatever you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” Joshua says, complacently. “That’s fine.”

“You’re dating Hansol?” Seungcheol says. “Since when?”

“Since Christmas,” Hansol says, rubbing his eyes as he walks through their bedroom door. “Why are you shouting about this at three in the morning?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seungcheol says, voice quiet again. “Sorry for waking you up. Hey, Seungkwannie—I’m sorry. You should forget about this, okay? Go back to bed. Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you all shut up?” Soonyoung’s shout comes from the third bedroom.

“Sorry!” Seungcheol yells back. “Goodnight, kids. Sleep well.” He bustles Jeonghan back into their bedroom, shutting the door this time.

“What was that about?” Hansol asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Nothing,” Seungkwan says. “Can we go back to bed?”

Hansol must hear the strange seriousness in his voice, so rare when they’re together. “Of course,” he says, letting Seungkwan latch onto him and walk them both back into the bedroom, sombre and tired.

-

He thinks that’s the end of it, for a while. Seungcheol goes back to normal, mostly— treating Seungkwan the same as he does the others, like he had before his seventeenth. Jeonghan and Joshua, too, don’t pay him any special attention, for the most part. He does catch their occasional glances towards him, but appreciates the clearly coordinated effort to act normally.

Word gets around about his and Hansol’s relationship; the company tells them to keep it on the down low, but the other guys tease them about it off camera. It’s friendly, and Seungkwan falls back into the ease of comfort again until summer, when three more of his Hyungs turn seventeen. He tries to ignore their looks, the building evidence that maybe Seungcheol is onto something about his marks. By the time Jihoon turns seventeen at the end of the year, Samuel has left Pledis and Minghao has joined, giving them a final line-up of thirteen members. With a date for a reality show finally looming on the horizon, they’re all moved into the dorms, and with that many of them crowded into a three-bedroom dorm, it’s impossible to keep the flowers a secret for much longer.

“Hey!” He looks up from where he’s eating breakfast to see Mingyu standing in the bathroom doorway, staring at whoever is already in there. “You have one too?” he says, moving further in.

“Are you done in there, Hyung?” Chan says from behind Mingyu. “There’s a queue out here!”

“I thought I was the only one!” Mingyu cries, his voice echoing around the bathroom.

He sees Chan push open the door to look in at them. “Wait—you guys have the flower too?”

Seungkwan immediately tenses up, halfway through a mouthful of noodles. He pulls at the strings of his hoodie, wanting to hide away and never have to face this conversation.

“It’s all the same!” Mingyu is saying. “Do we all have them? Is it a group soulmate mark, or something?”

“Hyungs!” Chan shouts, running into the oldest bedroom. “Does anyone else have a red flower mark? On your chest?”

He’s going to have to tell them. For nearly two years, he’s managed to keep it to himself, and now here he is, with his twelve flowers about to be exposed to his closest friends. His twelve members. All of whom, seemingly, have a red chrysanthemum.

“Hyung!” Chan is shouting, coming through into the tiny kitchen/living room space. “You have it too, right? The red flower?”

Seungkwan just looks up at him, unspeaking. Chan falters. “Don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t have it?” Wonwoo calls from the other end of the apartment.

“Seungkwan?” Seungcheol asks, coming into the kitchen. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“I think I don’t have much choice,” he says in a small voice.

“You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“I’m okay,” he says. “Can you call everyone in here?”

“Guys!” Seungcheol shouts without hesitation. “Kitchen meeting, now!”

The rest of the group filter in with speed, excitedly comparing flowers as they come. They all look the same, just positioned slightly differently, facing opposite ways or positioned slightly further to the left or right than others. Hansol comes in last—it had been him changing in the bathroom when Mingyu had shouted, then.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks earnestly. “What do the flowers mean?”

“It’s my flower,” Seungkwan tells him.

“Why would it be yours?” Mingyu asks, staring. Everyone else is quiet. He meets eyes with Hansol, looking at him with an open expression, then steps back off his barstool.

“Because I don’t have one,” he says, tugging at the corners of his hoodie and pulling it over his head, revealing the splay of flowers on his chest, still bright, still there. “I have twelve.”

He wonders what this would look like to an outsider. Twelve boys, staring at his chest, his hoodie in his hands and his marks bared to the world.

“Are they ours?” Seokmin asks, rubbing at his shirt over his own mark.

“We think so,” Jeonghan says, leaning against the wall of the room. “The members who have turned seventeen this year will know—we have memories of other lives with Seungkwan. They must be leftover marks from then.”

“Those are memories?” Soonyoung yelps. “It would’ve been nice if someone had told me!”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agrees. “I thought I was losing my mind. Was anyone else in space?”

“No, but I was a ghost,” Jihoon says.

“Huh,” Wonwoo says. They high five each other.

“I’m sorry, but what does this mean?” Junhui asks.

“I don’t know,” Seungkwan says. “I’m fifteen years old, I have no memories of anything you’re talking about— I’m just a kid. I’m not supposed to have these. I haven’t fallen in love with anyone other than Hansol.”

The room is quiet at his confession. Hansol is looking at him, his flowers. “You think one of them is mine?”

“I think so,” he says. “We could narrow it down, if the other Hyungs remember which ones theirs are.”

Hansol looks up at his face. “We’re soulmates?”

Seungkwan shrugs, trying to keep his eyes from welling up. “If you want us to be.”

Hansol rounds the kitchen table to bring him into a hug, hands holding the bare skin of his back as Seungkwan buries his head into his shoulder.

“We’re too young for this,” Seungcheol declares. “No one is soulmates with anyone. We should carry on as we were—when everyone has their memories back, we’ll come back to this. See what we want to do about it.”

“Chan won’t be seventeen for another three years,” Soonyoung complains. “We’re supposed to pretend these don’t exist until then?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol insists. “We have these by some sort of mistake, so let’s not take advantage of that. If anyone wants to date each other, or someone else, go ahead and date like you would normally. Do whatever you want. But we need to put the team first.”

“Debut should be our focus,” Seungkwan agrees, pulling away from Hansol and wiping his eyes. He yanks his hoodie back over his head. “I want to debut with all of you. Really. I think we should follow Hyung’s advice. I love you all, but I’m not ready to figure out what these marks mean yet.”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol says. “No more mention of them until after Channie’s seventeenth. Agreed?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan says from behind him, prompting the rest of the group to follow in a chorus of reluctant agreements.

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “You know, all this has given me a great idea for a group name. I think I’ll suggest it to the CEO tomorrow.”

-

On the day of Seungkwan’s seventeenth, he blows out his candles, claps along to the birthday song, and waits for his memories to come. It’s become a tradition; you turn seventeen, you tell your Seungkwan story. Mingyu had spouted some unbelievable shit about being a robot. He and Minghao apparently fought zombies together. Sometimes he’s half-convinced this is a huge, strange prank.

Midnight comes and goes, and he feels no different. No sudden memories; no other lives. He tries not to see the disappointment and confusion in the older members’ faces, and everyone pretends to celebrate normally, as they weren’t waiting for Seungkwan to give them more answers. Hansol holds him through a sleepless night of worry, a small comfort in his well of anxiety. When Hansol gains his own memories of magic and castles and royalty a month later, though, it’s hard not to feel increasingly left out, excluded from his own history.

They’re able to shove it to the back of their minds with the approach of debut only months away, long hours of practising and singing and preparing until Seungkwan is both seventeen and Seventeen. Adore U promotions blast by; Mansae happens, too, and goes by just as fast. Seungkwan’s eighteenth is a much more enjoyable birthday, with a genuine celebration unhindered by the pressure of remembering. Seokmin and Soonyoung get him a joint gift, the new album from a group he likes; Mingyu brings in his cake, all smiles and teasing and cream smeared over his face. He’s happy.

Chan turns seventeen weeks later. They’re in their studio, practising, but no one can really focus as midnight gets closer, the youngest of them ready to remember. Eventually Soonyoung gives up trying to get them to focus on choreography, going to get Chan’s cake a few minutes earlier than midnight.

“ _Happy birthday to you!”_ he sings, aggressively encouraging the others to follow his lead.

 _“Happy birthday to you!”_ Seungkwan joins in, clapping along, watching Chan’s smiling face being lit up by the candlelight in the dark of the studio.

“ _Happy birthday dear Channie!”_ Mingyu belts from next to him, but Seungkwan slows down in his clapping. The strangest feeling is edging up on him, coming on slowly, creeping up through his stomach and approaching his heart. It’s something big, like a realisation he should’ve had years ago, like a feeling he’s been ignoring all this time.

“ _Happy birthday to you!”_ they finish, but Chan doesn’t blow out his candles. Instead he looks up, and meets eyes with Seungkwan; the flames of the candles reflect in his eyes, making them shine, the same way the stars of Florana had done, on their first date.

“Oh,” he breathes, feeling his legs give way beneath him. He’s caught just before he can hit floor, just before he blacks out.

-

Minghao has an arm around his waist as they walk up the apartment building staircase together.

“We’re so lucky, you know,” Seungkwan says, putting an arm around his shoulders to rest against him as they trudge up slowly. “In our other life, we never could’ve imagined being able to go on a date. The best we could manage was grabbing our own table during a barn dance celebration.”

Minghao laughs softly. “We are lucky to have a second chance. To live how we would’ve wanted to, if the world hadn’t been ending.”

They stop in front of the seventh-floor apartment, and Seungkwan turns to kiss Minghao, slowly, with all the time in the world. They pull apart and he smiles, looking at him with soft eyes. “What I’m trying to say is; thank you for the date. I really needed it. Comeback has been crazy this year.”

“No problem,” Minghao replies, one thumb on the side of Seungkwan’s face, holding him gently.

Four years into their career, and they’re finally in a dorm building big enough to hold all of them, even if it does mean splitting them into two apartments. They only live a floor apart, but he’s not ready to say goodnight yet.

“Shall I get changed and come up with you?” he says, leaning against the apartment door. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want to either,” Minghao says, pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “I’ll wait for you.”

“We’re only a staircase apart, I think I can find my way there, Hyung.”

“Well—” Minghao starts, but is interrupted by the front door swinging open with speed, making Seungkwan stumble backwards.

“Why do you guys not look at your phones?” Soonyoung demands, too loud for this time of night. Seungkwan cringes on behalf of their neighbours. “There’s urgent news!”

“We were gone for three hours,” Seungkwan defends. “What did you guys manage to do?”

“It’s not me,” Soonyoung says, as if offended Seungkwan could ever presume such a thing. “It’s the Hyungs! Cheol, Jeonghan, Joshua—they gained each other’s marks!”

He gapes at him, blinking fast. He hadn’t expected that. “What do you mean?”

“Come on!” he says, pulling them into the flat. All ten other boys are in the living room, talking over each other in their general excitement. Seungcheol is sitting on the floor, beaming, with Jeonghan laying on his lap and Joshua at his side, looking far too smug for their own good. Seungcheol has his shirt off, proudly displaying the crane flower and celestia, on each side of his chrysanthemum.

“Are you serious?” Seungkwan shouts, laughing. “I leave for five minutes and you guys get more marks without me?”

“We couldn’t let you hog them all for long, Seungkwannie,” Jeonghan says, eyes aglow in delight.

“Thank God,” he replies, kneeling down to kiss Jeonghan deeply in celebration. “I was getting tired of being the only pillar in this relationship.”

“Shut up,” Jihoon tells him. “You’re no such thing.”

“Yeah I am,” Seungkwan argues, leaning over to kiss Seungcheol next, taking his face and pulling him forwards despite Jeonghan’s weight on his legs. “Or I was until now, at least.” He does the same for Josh, running a hand through his hair as he plants a kiss firmly to his mouth. He laughs again as he pulls away, delighted by this new development, by what this means for all of them.

“We should take bets,” Soonyoung says. “Who’s going to get marks next?”

“You and Seokmin,” Wonwoo says instantly.

“Or… Jihoon and Jeonghan?” Junhui suggests.

“I’m definitely going to be the first to get everyone’s marks,” Jeonghan says assuredly. “I’ve already got a head start.”

“You’ll be the first after me,” Seungkwan says, reminding him of his place. “I’m kind of jealous you know. I’m not going to get any marks with you guys.”

“But you don’t need them to appear,” Seokmin says. “You know we all love you anyway.”

Seungkwan beams, turning to him. “Of course.” He slides over to nestle himself in Seokmin’s arms.

“Besides,” Hansol points out. “You’re our starting point. The marks that everyone else gets will be thanks to you. So you can think of them as yours, too.”

“Thanks,” he replies, looking at Hansol softly. “I’m really happy for your guys. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Me too,” Seungcheol agrees. “It means this is possible. All thirteen of us, with twelve marks each, eventually.”

“I always knew it was,” Seungkwan says. “We’re pretty special.”

“Aw,” Soonyoung coos. “Doesn’t everyone think that about their soulmates, though?”

“But we’re not your typical soulmates, are we?” Chan laughs.

“Right,” Seungkwan agrees. “You have me in this relationship!”

“Oh my God,” Jihoon complains, and Mingyu picks up a cushion to throw at him.

Seungkwan dodges spectacularly. “Did I lie?”

“No,” Joshua says, leaning his head against Seungcheol’s shoulder. “You’re right. What would we do without our pillar?”

“Exactly!” he says, pointing at him. “Joshua knows!”

“In that case, pillar,” Soonyoung says. “I suppose you’ll be paying for our group date tomorrow night? We have to celebrate their new marks, after all.”

“Yay! Seungkwan is paying!” Seokmin shouts, hugging him tightly before he can get a word of protest in. Mingyu quickly cheers, too, and Jihoon jumps onto Mingyu’s back without warning, joining in on the celebrating and trusting Mingyu to keep him steady on his back.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop feeling the affection pouring out of him for his soulmates. He can’t help looking around the room and knowing he’s in love; that he’s found his home.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Food’s on me, soulmates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chrysanthemum: joy & longevity; in east asian societies, it can also represent lamentation, and love even after death :')
> 
> !! this beast is done! this is the longest thing ive ever written, and i was nervous about the last chapter, cause it's hard to do justice to all these relationships when you have to start at the beginning again, build up their relationships and put them together in a new way. i hope the way it ended satisfied you! if you enjoyed the fic please leave a kudos/comment so that i know!!
> 
> fun fact: every name in this fic (aside from seungkwans sister and sk & sm's characters in their show) is the name of someone in the kpop industry; imagine him remembering, then being like omg, the monsta x friendship transcends universes! psy was my father figure in medieval england! im working with my daughter on variety tv! ahh seungkwan is so loved and he has a lot of love to give. i love him sm
> 
> -thanku to my beta [rachel](https://twitter.com/koyahyah) for reading this through for me and helping me make it work (she assigned them all their flowers!)  
> -heres a thread of their [flowers](https://twitter.com/hope_boos/status/1156968095417868288) if you're interested in what they look like  
> -you can come talk to me about this fic (or anything) on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/hope_boos)  
> -or you can also retweet this fic [here!](https://twitter.com/hope_boos/status/1156947786077745152)
> 
> <3


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